


Even If I Swim, I’ll Drown

by awake0rdreaming



Series: 29 Different Love Stories: Tumblr Prompts [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, F/M, Gang AU, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Mentions of past abuse, Mild Language - swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Warning: Rating May Change, biker!stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6110561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awake0rdreaming/pseuds/awake0rdreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the year Malia was going to turn things around. Being freshly emancipated, she was free of the foster system and ready for absolutely anything. Do well in school, work towards a good college. Now on her own, she was more than ready to get her life in order. But it's always the ones that do everything right, that get the worst curve balls thrown at them.</p>
<p>Originally written for Day 23: 3am and the fire alarm in our apartment complex just went off let me lend you my jacket while we wait on the sidewalk ...that somehow spiralled into...this :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Comfort in the Fog

_A/N: Disclaimer for all chapters: Teen Wolf and all its characters do not belong to me._

—

Malia was not a fan of the cold. She hated how it would seep through any cracks, the feeling like it was curling into her bones, turning her into an icicle slowly. Even on mildly chilly nights like this one, she shivered wishing so hard that she had the common sense to pick up a heavier sweatshirt.

She had been fast asleep when the deafening fire alarm went off at three o’clock in the morning, scaring the shit out of her. What kind of person was awake at this late hour, and what did they do to set off the alarm?

That was how Malia found herself was outside in her pyjamas and bunny slippers. She had slipped into the first thing when she panicked, before taking the stairs to the ground floor. Now they were probably dirtied by the pavement, and she would have to wash them. The night was looking better and better.

“Probably some drunk that got the munchies after a long night,” a voice muttered beside her.

Malia turned to look at the guy in the leather jacket standing beside her, positive that she hadn’t said anything out loud.

He had his head tilted up, like he was trying to figure out which floor was the source of the disturbance. She noticed that he didn’t look as haggard as the rest of the residents, and in fact looked like he just arrived.

Lucky him.

She on the other hand had been cocooned in her warm bed, dreaming about running through the woods. It had been a lovely dream but the angle seemed off. Like she was closer to the ground than she ought to be… The dream had been slightly disorienting, but then again when did her dreams ever make sense?

“Wonderful,” Malia responded out loud also looking up. “I wish he had scheduled his stupidity for another night though.”

“Nice dream?”

“Weird dream, fitful sleep,” Malia rubbed her arms to get the circulation back again. Thinking about warm places did nothing for her. At least she was wearing her fleece pjs, so small graces.

“Here,” the guy said as he shrugged off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders. It was so unexpected, Malia simply blinked at him but accepted it all the same.

She instantly felt warmer as she slipped her arms into the too big sleeves, zipping it up quickly. The jacket had a warm lining, that easily protected her from the wind.

Malia was half expecting him to start chatting her up, now that she had given him an opening, but he surprised her when he stood quietly, hands in his pockets.

Not like most guys then.

—

Stiles checked out the girl in the bunny slippers subtly. Seeing them made him smile, but he didn’t dare let that image sway what type of personality she might have. She looked to be new; to the complex and to the area, which intrigued him. People rarely moved to this rundown neighbourhood by choice. Must be in the foster care system.

He had strict orders not to befriend people from the building; you never knew who their friends might be. But surely there wasn’t a rule against chivalry right? He would just get the jacket back when they could go back in again. No one had to know.

Plus she looked really good in leather. Finding it hard to keep the thought to himself, he turned towards her completely, “You should get one. It looks good on you.”

Malia turned to him confused and then realized he was talking about the jacket. “From what I’ve seen, leather makes everyone look hot,” She paused and then continued, “not that I was implying that I’m hot. Or that you were while you were wearing it.”

Stiles hid a smile as he nodded, “Noted.” Just then they heard the fire truck turning into their complex and moved to the opposite sidewalk as directed.

“Finally!” Malia muttered under her breath.

It took a couple minutes after to sort out the issue—night time cooking. He was right—and as soon as they were signalled that it was safe to go back in, Malia shot forward before Stiles could say anything.

As he watched her go, Stiles gritted his teeth. _Now_ what was he going to say to Scott tomorrow when he came to school without his jacket? He didn’t even know what floor she lived on, and it wasn’t like the neighbours would be forthcoming about sharing information…

—

Malia reached her apartment when she realized that she still had the nice guy’s jacket on. She took it off quickly trying to decide how she would go about returning it—considering she didn’t even know where he lived—when she spotted the emblem on the side of the right sleeve.

It felt as if someone threw a bucket of cold water over her, as she stared at the simple design of a yellow circle within a larger, thicker red circle. Rooted to the spot, she remembered one of the first things she was told when she moved here. It had seemed so simple back then, Malia thought she would have no trouble adhering to it.

When was she going to catch a break?

Not only had she worn the jacket, but also talked to a member of the notorious gang known as the Beacon Wolves. The same gang she had been warned to not get mixed up in. Frantically, she checked the pockets for ID hoping he was of a lower rank. Not that it would make things better, but still.

Being bounced around enough times in the system, Malia knew a thing or two about gangs and very quickly learned about territories and gang wars. Enough to know it was safe to be clear of them. Safe when you didn’t get involved with them. That was the rule.

Tracy had told her some of it like names, ranks, and gang turfs just to get a better idea on how to stay out of harm’s way. Talking to one of them was just…

“Please, please be of a lower rank,” she said as she felt around the pocket. Pulling out the wallet, she flipped it open and stared at the student card with the familiar colours of the high school she had just enrolled in that year.

Her hands shook as she read the name over and over, as though she was hoping if she stared hard enough, that it would change. From what she had heard, he was far from nice, definitely not a gentleman, and one hundred percent trouble.

She was so beyond screwed.


	2. Hear the Drumming

Malia loved school. When she was younger, she used to stay for as long as she was allowed, because it was better than going to her temporary home, before they got sick of her too. There was always something wrong with the place. It was either too crowded, or someone was pervy.  But of course, it was always her fault. Too pretty they said. Never mind that those disgusting pigs who called themselves charitable human beings were twice her age.

The only place she had stayed with long enough to feel like home, was with the Tates. She had slipped into a couple daydreams that they would adopt her one day. But hope was a dangerous thing for foster children.

Now she knew better.

Today was the first time Malia didn’t feel like school was her safe haven. But she knew she couldn’t avoid this ‘Stiles’ forever. At some point, they would have to interact, she would have to return his jacket to him. She couldn’t do it at school, because she didn’t want people to think she was mixed up with the Beacon Wolves, and she felt even less comfortable giving it to him in the building. But she had to make up her mind soon, before he came to find her himself.

—

Stiles was not a fan of mornings and usually stayed in bed until the last possible second before forcing himself to get up. But when he got home last night, he realized he had bigger problems than getting chewed out by Scott. His wallet had been in his jacket pocket, and with that his student card.

Beacon Hills High had upped its security ever since that one incident where a rival gang member had slipped inside the school, and the event had resulted with knife wounds. So tight security, metal detectors and entering with student ID only, which he didn’t have.

After his last suspension, Stiles had been warned that if he was planning on graduating his senior year, he’d better attend all classes from now on, unless he had a legitimate reason for missing it. He was currently only a junior.

There was only one guy he could go to at such short notice who could make him a student card, and he would need incentive to work quick.

—

Stiles knocked on the door of a house down the street. A shirtless boy of Hawaiian descent with a well defined chest and sharp high cheekbones answered the door, eyebrows raised when he saw Stiles on his doorstep.

“Aiming to bring my property value down with your presence, Stilinski?”

“Shut the fuck up Danny, and let me in.” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Polite as always,” Danny left the door open as he walked into his livingroom, picking up a shirt on the couch and putting it on, “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to make me a student card,” Stiles said, pulling out the bag of weed that Danny would no doubt ask for shortly. Sure enough when he turned around naming his price, Stiles shoved it in his hand.

Danny grinned taking it and sat down at his computer, fingers whizzing over the keyboard. Five minutes later, he had a brand new card for Stiles, which he promptly scratched against the desk, before handing it over.

Stiles raised his eyebrows in question, but he shrugged, “Has to look like its been used or they would know. I don’t do any half assed work.”

“Don’t think they would care,” Stiles said offhandedly. He looked down at the card. “You used a good picture.”

“I was in a favourable mood. The lighting’s perfect in that one. Brings out your eyes,” he grinned.

Stiles raised an eyebrow at the comment, before pocketing it. He was about to head out when he thought of something. Turning around, he asked “You have copies of the school records by any chance?”

—

It was close to the end of lunchtime when the subject came up. The gang were seated in their usual spot on the picnic tables, when Lydia turned to Stiles, “Hate to be the one quoting Grease, but is it Halloween?”

“I suppose now that he’s promoted, he thinks he can do whatever he wants,” Isaac drawled from the opposite table, apparently still sore from losing out on the position.

“Guys,” Scott said quietly, and talk ceased. Stiles knew that it wasn’t the last of the matter. When it came to discipline, Scott handled everything.  

He ate the sub he had bought on the way over from Danny’s quietly, trying to figure out when he could talk to the girl. Apparently, she was in three of his classes; one today, two tomorrow. How had he never noticed her before? But Stiles knew the answer to that as well. There was never a need to remember any face, if it didn’t benefit him somehow.  

When it was close to the time the bell rang, everyone got up and left except for Scott, who always picked up after them.  Stiles usually stayed back to walk with him, but he didn’t feel like being left alone with Scott right now.

He had just got his feet on the ground, when Scott turned to him. “Where’s the jacket?”

“Somewhere in the apartment.” Stiles said. It wasn’t a complete lie, he simply didn’t know whose apartment it was currently laying in.

“Wanna try that again?” Scott said, voice deceptively patient. Stiles looking at him, wondering how he did it. It was almost like he could hear his pulse or something. He sighed inwardly as he thought over the words carefully before saying them.

“I did something stupid, and I need some time to fix it.”

“How much?”

“A day.”

“You got it. And Stiles?” he turned around looking at his best friend, “Don’t lie to me again.”  

He had never lied to Scott. Everyone else was fair game, but Scott? He wasn’t just their leader, he was like a brother. Kin. And Stiles got it. They all got it. In one way or another, Scott had saved them. It’s what made them close. What made them family was their sense of loyalty to him. That also meant there were no secrets between them. Maybe that’s why Scott could see through him so easily.

It worried him that he didn’t want to tell Scott about the girl, but something was holding him back from sharing, and he wasn’t sure what it was yet. Stiles picked up his pace and made it to his next class just as the bell rang.

—

All throughout History, Malia got the prickling feeling like she was being watched. When Ms. Hook turned toward the board to write down their assignment, Malia scanned the room hoping it was simply the jitters from yesterday, when her eyes landed on the familiar face at the back of the class. 

Stiles was staring at her unblinkingly, as he lightly tapping the desk with his pencil. Malia turned around quickly, heart thudding in her chest. He was in her class? Since when?

She could hardly pay attention that day, and when the bell rang, she was one of the first out of the door.

—

Malia waited just outside the lobby of the building with her backpack. She only had a couple minutes to spare before catching the bus to her work, but she wanted the unease curling in her stomach at the thought of being in the possession of a gang member’s jacket, to stop. 

She couldn’t even remember what she had learned that day, expecting him to corner her in the school any second.

She was just about to give up and head out when Stiles appeared around the corner, helmet in hand and hair looking wind swept, like he just stepped out of a biker magazine.

So it wasn’t just the jacket, Malia thought grudgingly, as she watched him walk over to her, stopping a few feet away.

Stiles looked at the girl in front of him dressed in layers and ripped jeans. She didn’t look very different from before, but he noticed the tightness of her shoulders and the guarded eyes that weren’t present last night. So she knew who he was. Had probably heard stories and come up with conclusions of what kind of person he might be.

It was just as well. No point persuading her to think otherwise.

Feeling nervous at the sudden scrutiny, Malia’s fingers slipped as she opened the backpack and pulled the jacket—that she had packed just before leaving her apartment—out, and held it out to him wordlessly.

Stiles took it, checking the pockets for his wallet, flipping it open and checking the sleeves to make sure everything was still there. From the corner of his eye, he could she her fidgeting, and realized he was making her nervous. Giving her a nod, he walked past her throwing his jacket over his shoulder.  

Hopefully that was the end of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullllo Lovelies! By now you might have figured out that this isn’t a fluffy Stalia fic :) I’m usually canon compliant as far as characters from Teen Wolf go, but I needed more people in Scott’s gang so voila! Won’t be bringing anyone back from the dead, so there’s still that. I must say, writing this version of Stalia is interesting in all the best ways^^ Cheers!


	3. Words in the Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not condone any activities my characters part take in. Nor do I agree with their actions/decisions, and am not justifying them. This is a work of fiction. I have done some research, but if you notice the terminology used is wrong, it is because I have no personal expertise in the matter.

Stiles strode down the hallway, and grabbed the girl roughly by the arm, slamming her into the lockers. The students around them jerked back and stared in alarm.

“Are you _trying_ to piss me off?” he hissed, leaning so close their noses almost touched.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Malia looked him squarely in the eyes. The fact that she was lying to his face either meant she was gutsy or just stupid, though definitely not scared of him.

“That stuff's expensive, now give it back.” he said voice low, his grip tightening on her arm by a fraction.

“I hardly think a school hallway is a place to be discussing such things.” she said back. Stiles would have been impressed by her level tone, if he wasn’t fuming so hard. “Besides, maybe I used everything.”

Stiles’ nostrils flared in anger, unsure where to take it from here. They were gaining more attention by the second.

“Besides, that stuff’s not really good for you.”

“Says the thief who stole some.”

“Stilinski,” One of the security guards that had come over hearing the noise, warned. They both turned to look at him, and Stiles spared her another glare before letting go of her arm and walking off.

As soon as he was out of sight, Tracy pushed through the slowly dissipating crowd and rushed to her side, “What the fuck did you _do_?”

—

Malia used to have a shoplifting problem. It had started with small things, things she knew she couldn’t afford, things she thought no one would miss. It had gotten considerably better to curb the habit, after that time she had been caught. The terror of hearing the police being called, gave her just enough strength to push the salesperson, and run.

She had thought it these impulses were gone, but when checking the pockets of the leather jacket, she had found some weed. It had been ages since she had rolled a joint, and it looked like it was the good stuff. She hadn’t thought Stiles would notice the quantity had gone down, but guess she was wrong.

“I bumped into him. He got pissed off.” Malia said to Tracy, who gave her a look.

“Stiles maybe hot tempered at times but from what I’ve seen, he hasn’t lashed out at someone for the fun of it.” She crossed her arms, waiting for the real reason.

Malia didn’t know the first thing to tell her friend. His actions however rough—clearly he didn’t care if she was a girl or not—had been understandable. He gave her his jacket without expecting anything in return and as thanks, she stole something of his.

This explanation of events was not going to fly over well. “I have a problem,” is what she chose to start with.

—

Stiles had only five pieces of furniture in his tiny apartment. A couch, a coffee table with two chairs, and a bed. The lack of furniture was because he had to sell some of it in order to pay for necessities, like food.

When his parents had divorced, his mom had bought the place and he lived with her here, when she had been alive. She had left him the place, even though he was a minor. It wasn’t legally his yet, but his dad didn’t care what he did, where he stayed, as long as Stiles stayed out of his business.

Living on his own had meant he had to give up some luxuries in the process. That’s how he had met Scott one day at a party, and they had clicked instantly. Then shortly after, Scott invited Stiles join his gang.  

Even with minimal raised surfaces—or possibly because of it—every inch of the place was covered with stuff, to a point where if he was looking for anything specific, he would have a hard time finding it. Like for instance his history textbook. Which he had been searching for over an hour. Moving stuff around only meant he was increasing a pile in a different corner.

“Shit,” Stiles swore loudly as his toe hit something hard, almost toppling him into the coffee table. He bent down and discovered the culprit was his English textbook. “Wonderful. Except its the wrong damn book,” Stiles muttered, but kept it safely on his bed all the same. He didn’t want to do this all over again, the next time he was trying to complete his homework on time.

There was a knock on the door, just as he was about to attack an area he hadn’t covered yet. Stiles was puzzled by the sound; he didn’t get visitors and his friends didn’t knock—they banged on the door. He pulled the door open without checking to see who it was and found the girl on his doorstep.

It was ten at night and she looked worn out, but here she was in her layers when theoretically she should be in bed. Stiles wondered idly if she owned a jacket since she never seemed to wear one. Also… “You know where I live?” Stiles asked with a slight frown.  

“I asked a neighbour,” Malia admitted.

“Not a smart move.” Stiles said leaning an arm against the door frame.

Malia swallowed as she nodded. “I know.” He looked really intimidating with the way he seemed to be looming over her, even though she knew he was only a couple inches taller. His broad shoulders made him look bigger than he actually was. “But on the off chance that you would ‘confront’ me at school again, I thought I should return this.”

She pulled out a zip lock bag from her pocket at held it out to him containing the weed she had taken. Stiles started reaching for it, when he spotted the hand shaped bruise forming on her arm, where he’d grabbed her earlier.

Malia saw where he was looking pulled her sleeves down, “I’ve had worse,” she said.

That didn’t make Stiles feel any better. He didn’t even want to think about what she had implied. “Uh. Hold on. Stay right here.” He said, before slipping behind his door. Malia was too taken aback to move, so she was in the same spot when Stiles came back, holding a tube of some sort. “It won’t do anything for the discolouration, but it’ll help.”

Now it was him holding something out for her to take. Malia wasn’t really sure what was going on, but she realized she had a choice here. Either take the offered apology—because that’s what it was—or decline politely so they wouldn’t have to keep doing this back and forth business. She knew what the smart thing to do was.

But when had she ever done the smart thing?

Malia reached out and took it from him. They stood quietly neither sure about what to do next. “See you in class?” Malia offered finally. Stiles nodded with a hint of smile.  

It was only after he closed the door, that Malia realized the weed was still in her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo Lovelies. You know when it starts with a disclaimer, that shit is about to go down. I pretty much gave everyone crappy lives in this fic, but it makes for interesting backstories, so I’m not sorry. Besides, only the desperate would want the security of gangs is my thinking. I have a lot more in my back pocket, and the songs I'm listening to are keeping the storylines going, so all's good in the writing world :)


	4. We Walk this Line

Stiles had been staring out the window thinking, when he heard his name being called. He glanced up to find the teacher’s eyes on him.

“Well?”

Stiles looked at the expectant faces around him, before looking back at Ms. Hook. His reputation had no effect on teachers, who didn’t know the ins and outs of gangs. Personally he didn’t think the frizzy haired teacher would give a damn either way.

“There were 23 main concentration camps,” he answered, “but it was estimated that there were sub camps roughly around 20,000 between 1933 and 1945.”

He was greeted with baffled faces around the classroom, but if anyone else spent half the amount of time he did recovering from fights, they would get that the process took a lot of time. Time he passed by reading whatever he got his hands on—textbooks included. Most of this stuff was interesting anyways. It was the showing up for tests, writing papers, and homework that he had trouble with.

“Correct,” Ms. Hook said, unruffled by the fact that for someone who was barely in her class, he knew the material. Maybe she was one of those people that didn’t judge by whatever she _had_ heard. Stiles went back to staring out of the window, tuning the rest of the class out again.

Things had been going good for the Wolves so far. There had even been some sort of peace settled between them and Hale. And for him, that only meant one thing. When things got quiet, nothing good came out of it. If he had to guess, Hale was using this time to plan something, and he needed to find out what and soon so they wouldn’t be caught unawares.

Stiles was mulling over who would be the most efficient contact to use, given the number of hours he was giving them to work with, when he heard the scrapes of chairs around him. Surely class wasn’t over already? Confused, he looked around him and then to the board and saw ‘group project’.

Stiles rubbed his temple with his index finger. Group projects meant having to actually talk to people, and this was the only class he had where he didn’t know anybody beforehand. These people had a habit of being too scared to assigning him stuff in fear that he would lash out at them, instead of just telling him what he needed to have done. 

He got up and made his way over to the teacher’s desk. “I prefer to work alone,” he said hoping with the look he gave her, she would know he meant he didn’t want to subject anyone to his company.

“That’s not an option.” she said firmly. “Choose a group. If you cannot find one today, there is someone absent that you can partner up with.”

Stiles looked around the room and saw most people in groups already. Technically the maximum was groups of three, so everyone would even out in the class, but he spotted a group of four, which only left him one option.

“Who is absent?”

Ms. Hook looked at her attendance list, “Malia Woods.”

—

The gang were hanging out on the porch steps of Scott’s home after school the next day. Scott was the only one out of all of them that still lived with a parent, though his mom mostly worked night shifts, so he barely saw her. He was never alone in the house though.

Isaac had been a runaway, from an abusive father who used to lock him up in tight spaces for days. Scott had taken him in, and once Melissa was told of his living situation, she had allowed him to stay, rather than inform the police of the missing person. He had come a long way from a boy that jumped at his own shadow.

“Word on the street is Hale’s recruiting.” said Kira as the chips were being passed between them. There was no one Scott trusted more than Kira, and she was almost always with him, so when news came through she was there to hear it.

“Are you sure? I mean, we’re in some sort of truce right?” Isaac asked.

“I’m sure.” Scott answered. “We have to keep a lid on our dealings with people from now on. They could get someone from our school. So be careful.”

“Knew things wouldn’t stay quiet for long.” Lydia said, as she dug through her bag for the maroon nail polish she favoured. She turned her head when she felt a bump on her arm. Kira was holding out the bottle she was looking for. Lydia smiled at her as she took it. Wordlessly she handed Kira her notes from English class.

Stiles glanced back and forth between them. He could never understand this silent communication they shared. It was almost eerie to watch. He wondered if it was a roommate thing or a Kira and Lydia thing.

“But the truce was called a while back. For all we know, they could’ve already gotten someone.” Isaac was the skeptic of the group. Always doubting, and questioning motive. It wasn’t a bad thing to have, but it was annoying when he was challenging Scott’s word and more importantly, Stiles’ credibility.

“Isaac.” Scott said firmly, quietening the boy for the moment.

Stiles looked at Isaac shaking his head a little. If he ever wondered how he got skipped over being Scott’s second, this would be the reason.

The way Scott ran his crew was simple. No secrets between you and the leader. The other way round was a different story. Scott would only tell people things _he_ thought they needed to know. Isaac had been part of the gang longer than Stiles to know this.

Maybe that was the reason his and Isaac’s relationship was strained; he believed being in the gang longer, meant guaranteed power of position.

It’s not like Scott had been running his gang without a second this entire time. After meeting him, Stiles found out Allison Argent had been his right hand before. And they all knew how that had ended. He knew the risks with this position.

Stiles also knew the reason he was picked, and not one of the girls—though they were more than capable—was because of his connections. Being a son of an ex-cop with a gambling problem had made him popular in all the wrong areas of town. His hands were plenty dirty, but he didn’t care. He had people to protect.

Thinking he had stayed silent long enough, Stiles said, “Why don’t we recruit people of our own?”

“We don’t _need_ more people.” Lydia said.

“If this going to be one of those ‘one of me is five of you’ bullshit, I don’t wanna hear it.” Isaac said dryly.

Kira smiled as Lydia sent daggers at Isaac. Living with the strawberry blonde had taught her of the other girl’s temperament. Though none of them could deny that Lydia was a dead shot. She never missed.

Scott however sat in thoughtful silence. “Did you have someone in mind?”

“No. But you do.” Stiles said.

Everyone including Kira turned to Scott surprised, but he only smirked. He had chosen well with Stiles. “I assume you have it covered then?”

“Always.”

—

Stiles was by the pavement, leaning against his bike, partially hidden by the dark shadow of a tree. The backlight of his phone illuminating his face as he checked his messages, was the only sign that there was someone standing there.

He was so tired, having got barely enough sleep to be classified as ‘rest’, and his eyes were burning. But Scott needed him so here he was, waiting for the call. He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit one up as he waited, blowing the smoke out into the night sky.  

“This is actually worse for your health.”

Stiles didn’t need to turn around to see who the speaker was. Only one person was dumb enough to talk to him out in the open like this. It’s like she didn’t care that people would assume she was associated with the BW.

“Go away.” Stiles said tonelessly.

“Isn’t it usually one or the other? No one smokes both.”

“I’ll shoot you.” He said. This just showed how worn out he was, if he was replying in this fashion. 

“You don’t carry a gun,” Malia replied, coming to stand beside him.

Stiles turned his eyes toward her slowly, as he took another drag from his cigarette. She was observant in that sense. If only she would employ that keen eye with more useful things—like recognizing when _not_ to converse irritatingly with someone carrying more than one harmful weapon on his person.

“So I hear we’re partners for a project.”

“Wasn’t my idea.”

Malia regarded Stiles quietly as he stared down the empty street. He wore this silent brooding thing all too well, but she was getting fed up with it.

“Listen. I don’t care if this tarnishes your…” she waved at him in general, “…image, but if we’re going to be working together, this grade is going to be earned equally. That means you give me your time, do half the work, and do it well. Get me?”

Stiles turned to face her and found her looking stubbornly back. He realized she wasn’t going to budge on this matter so talking her out of it was futile. Resigned to the fact he said, “Give me your phone.”

“Why?” she asked even as she was reaching into her pocket for it. Stiles made a motion with his fingers to hand it over, and she slapped it in his hand.

It was an old Motorola flip phone, like the one his mom used to carry. It’s not like he could judge, since his own phone was severely outdated.

He punched a bunch of buttons and handed it back to her. “There’s an old diner off of Main with a grey banner and a white tree on it. We can meet there,” he said quietly, surveying the street around them. “Now, get outta here before someone sees you.”

It was late enough that there would be few people out and about, but not so late that no one would see them. The neighbours were a nosy lot. 

Malia was about to leave, when she hesitated. Stiles closed his eyes for a brief second to stop an eye roll. Self preservation didn’t seem to exist in this girl’s vocabulary.  He took a calming breath and waited for her to spit it out.

“I’m Malia.”

“I know.”

Malia looked surprised at hearing that but although he kept eye contact with her, Stiles didn’t offer an explanation.

For the first time that night, she started getting wary of him. “Okay then,” she sounded confused, but moved past him and down the sidewalk, until she disappeared around the corner.

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with his foot moodily. Just what he needed. Quality time with the girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo Lovelies :) Hope you liked the little gang intro there. Yes, the rival gang are the Hales, though I'm not going to go into detail with them. If you’re wondering why Malia isn’t a Tate in this one, it’s cause I made her an abandoned baby with a made up last name :)


	5. Washed out Sunset

Malia was leaning against a pillar by the front stairs of the high school, waiting on Tracy. Her friend had borrowed some notes for a class she’d missed, and she needed them back today. Looking at her watch she realized she was early and made a face, glancing around to pass the time.

Diagonally across from her, a familiar black motorbike pulled up and parked in the designated area. Even before the rider pulled off the helmet, she knew it to be Stiles, who seemed like he was waiting on someone because he didn’t move from his spot.

Thinking back to their time at the diner Nemeton, she had come to realize that Stiles only spoke when he had something meaningful to share. Malia on the other hand was not talkative, but she often felt the need for some idle conversation, something she struggled with when sitting opposite him.

She found Stiles was surprisingly knowledgeable about the topic they were made to discuss. There were times he went into detail on a specific point, talking with his hands as he described events in that levelled tone of his. It had made him seem a lot more approachable now that she had spent some one on one time with him.

During these quiet study sessions, Malia wondered how he knew so much. He seemed like a bright guy, so how did he get into a gang, or more importantly why. She was itching to find out more about him. Unfortunately this also meant she had been thinking of him a lot more than she would have liked.

From the corner of her eye she noticed a girl make her way over to Stiles, the ease in her body language suggesting she was quite familiar with him. This perked up Malia’s interest, and she tried to be as subtle as possible while observing them.

—

Stiles got off the bike running fingers through his slightly damp hair where it had flattened out, and began fiddling with his keychain. Just as he was starting to get impatient, he felt fingers trail across his shoulders from behind.

“Hello sweet cheeks.”

Stiles turned towards the voice, “What is it?”

His companion, a girl with dyed pink hair didn’t answer right away. She looked across the parking lot at the girl with messy brown hair she had seen Stiles with a couple weeks ago. It was obvious the brunette was curious but trying not to show it. The next time she looked their way, Caitlin held her gaze licking her lips as she winked at her. The girl blushed furiously at the action, and at being caught.

“She’s cute right?” she asked Stiles, nodding in the flustered girl’s direction. Stiles followed her line of sight and landed on Malia, who was biting her lip, typing furiously on her phone. His mind flashed to the first time he’d seen her in her bunny slippers to the last, biting her nails insistently as she read through an article on the fighter jets France used during the war.

She was definitely an interesting character who knew what she was about. About to agree Stiles caught himself in time, but he saw Caitlin smile knowingly. He cursed her ability to read people well, but then again that’s what made her a good contact.

“You were saying.” he said, getting them back on track.

“It’ll cost you,” to which Stiles shrugged—it was expected, “not like usual though.”

Something about the way she said it, made him wary. “What do you want?”

Caitlin pursed her lips before replying, “A ride to Ethan’s party.”

“No.” Stiles shut it down immediately. “Absolutely not. I refuse to be a prop to make your ex jealous, Caitlin.” Knowing her, she would milk his presence as much as possible, before giving him what he needed.

She placed a casual hand on his thigh. To a passerby, it might look like they were cosy with each other when in reality, there was very little fun attached to what they actually discussed—though they both agreed a while back that it was safer for people to assume they had a thing between them since it made a good cover.

“There’s a 80 percent guarantee that I’ll be leaving the party with her. The way I see it, you get what you want and I get my girlfriend back. Everyone wins.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Not too long I hope. These dogs are not going to lay low, while you make up your mind.”

Stiles looked at the way she was smirking, like she knew it would play out exactly as she had planned. The tip better be worth it. “Pick you up at nine. Be fully ready or no ride.”

“Thanks cutie.” Caitlin pecked Stiles on the cheek and sauntered off.

Stiles sighed inwardly. He hated doing personal favours. It always ended up pissing someone off.

—

Stiles was in English class as the teacher, Ms Burk asked the class questions on the short story they were supposed to read for homework. He hadn’t completed the work today and had read Lydia’s notes before class started, but if she called on him, she would know that he was half assing it. English was his lowest grade so far.

He seated himself low in his seat trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, when he heard something clatter loudly two rows across from him. He looked up just in time to see Malia reach down at an awkward angle to get at the pencil box she had dropped accidentally.

A boy sitting beside her, reached down and handed it to her with a smile that she returned in gratitude.  

Stiles stared at the back of his classmate’s head before switching his attention back to Ms. Burk. See, these small gestures meant nothing when someone else did it. It would just get blown out of proportion when he did, even if his intentions had been innocent.

He still hadn’t mentioned his familiarity with the girl, and he couldn’t even use the school project as an excuse, since that was after the hallway incident. If someone had seen it, then it wouldn’t be too hard to connect the dots—just the previous day he had come to school without his jacket. His money was on Kira. She was the most level headed out of the gang.

Kira was viewed as emotionless by her peers, though her friends knew better. Her mannerisms came from her family’s view that showing one’s emotions, was showing weakness, which stemmed from their Japanese culture.

Because of her martial arts background, Kira was the most versatile of them all with weapons, though like Stiles, she preferred knives. If she was keeping quiet about her knowing about his blunder, it meant she was giving him the chance to come clean on his own.

—

After class was dismissed, Stiles was packing up to leave, when Ms. Burk called him up to her desk. Lydia exchanged puzzled glances with him and signalled that she’d be waiting outside. Most of the students had filed out by the time Stiles walked up to the teacher, who pulled out an essay from the pile sitting on her desk.

“I have a hard time believing this is yours. Can you tell me what you’re thesis was about?”

Stiles looked down at his essay and then at the teacher wordlessly. Just as she reached for the red marker to fail him, Stiles answered. “I was trying to illustrate the differences between the two societies and how although no physical wall separates them, their staunch belief in what is right, does.”

“Did I not explain that well?” he asked after a pause.

Ms. Burk placed the marker back down, and picked the paper up, “There are a lot of run on sentences. It needs works.”

Stiles nodded and walked out of the class, finding Lydia waiting by his locker. “Thought you had cheated?” she guessed correctly.

“Her and the rest of the world.” Stiles got his food out, along with the books for his class after lunch. “If I had a buck for every time someone underestimated me, I wouldn’t have to dip into the funds mom left me from time to time.” He slammed the door shut—the only sign of his foul mood—before walking towards the door leading to their lunch spot.

“So how’s it going with the whole recruiting thing?” Lydia asked, falling in step beside him.

“Most of the stuff checks out. But I keep feeling like I’m missing something.”

“If you haven’t found it yet, most likely you’re not going to Stiles.”

“I don’t know—“

“Admit it. This hesitation has less to do with thorough background checking on Liam and more to do with your unwillingness to share Scott with someone new.” Lydia smirked when Stiles looked like he was going to protest. “It’s okay. Kira told me Isaac’s just as sour. Though, he lives with Scott. How much more of a person could you want?”

Stiles bit his lip. If Lydia hadn’t noticed how Isaac sometimes looked at Scott, he wasn’t going to mention it. “Maybe he’s tired of hearing it from Scott at home too.” he said. “You know how Scott gets sometimes.”

Lydia hummed, “Either way, you can’t keep dragging your feet on this issue. Scott likes results.” she reminded him. Stiles sighed, getting the message.

—

Stiles didn’t like being around people when there was alcohol involved. It made stupid people stupider and tempers quick to rise, resulting in violent behaviour. It was possible though that his views came from his dad leaving a negative impression on him when he was younger. Too many nights coming home drunk, too many fights with his mom, too much yelling, too much of everything. All because of a substance in a bottle.

This is why he avoided parties such as these but just as suspected, Stiles’ payment included a lot more than a ride to a party. It’s how he found himself on the wealthier side of town leaning against the wall with Caitlin standing close, informing him of her findings.

“Also, Little Storm is going to stop by tonight.” Caitlin stepped back from him after the comment. That was a titbit he wasn’t expecting. Stiles wondered if she had known, when she had asked for his presence here.

His hand shot forward to her waist and pulled her close again, “She frequents these parties?” he asked eyes intent, voice low.

“She does now.”

Stiles surveyed the room quickly. Ethan didn’t have a side he belonged to, so both gangs were free to come and go. As far as he knew, Cora wasn’t a part of Hale’s gang, but maybe they were just good at hiding her. It made sense though. She was also in high school and free to mingle with people from his.

It wasn’t the first time Stiles had considered her involvement, but he was yet to find proof. He gave her a look, and Caitlin understood. She would see what she could find. From the corner of his eye, Stiles noticed her ex watching them like a hawk.

“We square?” he asked, getting a nod. Allowing a small smile he said, “Go get her then.”

—

Stiles’ good mood as he left the party evaporated, when he was heading towards his bike. In front of him were two people; a girl kicking the shins of a guy who was holding onto her arm, demanding him to let her go. He recognized the girl instantly as Malia and quickened his pace.  

Sliding quietly behind the blonde, Stiles flicked open his switchblade and rested against the stranger’s neck right under the jaw, making both him and Malia freeze. 

With his voice sounding dangerously calm Stiles said, “I believe she said...let go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Lovelies :) sorry about the abrupt ending. This is what happens when you plan too much for one chapter lol, though I believe this has been my longest for this AU. Not a lot of Stalia but this story is heavy with plot…its gotta go somewhere^^


	6. Lost on the Road

_Sliding quietly behind the blonde, Stiles flicked open his switchblade and rested against the stranger’s neck right under the jaw, making both him and Malia freeze._

_“I believe she said, let go.” Stiles interjected, voice deadly calm._

—

Stiles felt the guy freeze the moment the cold steel blade touched him. He lifted his chin from the sharp edge, breathing heavily. In front of him, Malia was also  still as a statue, mouth open, staring at the knife resting on fragile skin.

“Look man. We were just talking,” the guy tried. His hand however stayed on her, though she was doing very little to get away now.

“That was me asking nicely” Stiles said with the same tone, pressing a little harder, but not enough to cut skin.

His eyes met Malia’s and he nudged sharply to the side, signalling her to leave. With a hesitant look between Stiles, the knife, then the guy, Malia stepped out of the now completely slack grip and ran off.

“H-Hey,” the guy stammered, “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was—“

“Unwilling?”

“What?”

“You didn’t know she was unwilling? I’m pretty sure ‘no’ is the universal answer to something unwanted. Heard her say no a couple times.”

“We were just talking,” the blonde repeated.

“And now you were just leaving.” Stiles’ tone didn’t leave room for any argument. If it wasn’t for the glint of light on the blade pointed at the other guy, he could very well be mistaken for talking about the weather. “Leave.”

He moved the knife in such a way that it deliberately nicked the guy lightly, before withdrawing it completely. The blonde bolted the moment he was released.

Idiots, Stiles thought as he walked on the side of the road, towards his bike. Everything he had seen further proved his point on alcohol. Why did people drink?

“I had it handled.” Stiles turned toward the sound of Malia’s voice, spotting her half hidden in the shadows, a few feet away from him.

“I saw that.” he said expressionless.

“I’m serious.” Malia said tightly, as she moved away from the wall and toward him. “I don’t need your protection. I can take care of myself.”

Stiles was quiet. He hadn’t been trying to be her champion; he had acted on impulse. The list of stupid things he had done in her presence were just growing.

It wasn’t the first time he wished she would stay away, stop engaging in meaningless conversations with him. Make his life easier.

Malia seemed agitated by his silence, “What were you trying to prove, anyways?” she asked, stepping closer to him. “What did your little power trip achieve?” That question gained a reaction from him.

“He will never _touch_ you. _That’s_ what it achieved.” Stiles said. Malia took a startled step back at the fierceness of his tone, staring at him.

When it looked to Stiles like that was the end of it, he started walking away until he felt jerk on his arm. It took him by surprise, which is how he ended up so close to her, that he could feel her breath on his face.

“I’m not done yet,” Malia said grabbing the lapel of his jacket to keep him in place.  

Stiles looked down at the surprisingly firm grip, and back up in time to see a flustered look cross her face. Apparently now that the girl had his attention, she didn’t know what to do with it.

Stiles couldn’t help it with their close proximity, but he knew he was done for, the moment his eyes dropped to her lips, lingering there for brief seconds. He looked up into her dark brown eyes, knowing she had seen. He couldn’t do anything about that now.

Stiles moved his hand upwards, his large hand closing around her small one, yanking it firmly away from his jacket. They spent some long moments looking at one another, neither quite sure what was transpiring between them, until Stiles dropped her hand to the side slowly, stepping back.

He then turned around abruptly walking away, his heart thudding loudly in his chest.

—

Stiles was passing Kira on his way to history class, when she bumped into him, shoving a piece of paper into his hands before continuing on her way. Stiles waited until he was in the classroom, before looking at the note. It simply read:

_You have until the end of the day to come clean. If not, I tell Scott myself._ _\- k_

Stiles looked down at the note and sighed, sitting down heavily in his seat, looking at the back of Malia’s head.

He had finally figured out why he had been so unwilling to tell Scott about her. He knew if he did, their leader would forbid him from talking to her. Disobeying wasn’t an option. And how much ever he tried convincing himself that she was the one constantly pushing, he had been the one to offer a hand when he’d hurt her, had engaged in more than one conversation that had nothing to do with school, and it was _he_ that approached her on the night of the party.

He could have discouraged her in other ways, but he hadn’t. He knew though that although this girl may be fascinating, she was not worth losing Scott’s trust in him over.

—

Stiles was late in getting home that day. He had an errand to run for Scott on the opposite side of town—which he took if only to delay the inevitable—and on his way back, he noticed he was running low on fuel. If it had been a couple blocks away from his apartment, he wouldn’t have minded chancing it, but he knew if he didn’t find a gas station soon, he would be left stranded on the side of the road at night, and he was dangerously close to Hale territory.

Hoping no one would be close enough to catch him, Stiles snapped on his helmet and kicked the gear, turning towards Lakeside.

—

Stiles parked at the near deserted gas station. This particular area was a bit of a peace ground. Neither gang had claim over it, though they never made a habit of traveling here alone.

People living around here, kept their nose out of gang business, and wouldn’t divulge information even if asked. If Hale _did_ find him here, alone, how easy would it be? No witnesses, no proof, no foul. Isn’t that how shit worked?

He was waiting for the tank to fill up, when the sound of numerous engines, cut through the air. Stiles heart picked up, as he counted six of them from the corner of his eyes, walking towards the diner across from the gas station.

It was then that one of them, a girl with long brown hair, looked over casually in his direction and stopped abruptly. The way she was standing, there was no mistaking the emblem of a blue flame on the front left of her jacket.

Cora Hale. Officially a member of the Hale gang. What a way for him to discover this titbit…all alone with no backup.

Stiles saw he clench her jaw at being found out, before she grabbed the shoulder of her older brother, nodding towards him. The chatter from the crowd died down and Stiles looked up at them steadily, seeing no point in feigning obliviousness.

Besides, if the guns were being pulled out, he wanted to know.

—

Malia was just about to close up, when she looked out the doors of the convenience store she worked at—yes the irony wasn’t lost on her—and caught sight of what looked like a confrontation between gang members, the leather jackets an unmistakable identifier. She didn’t recognize the faces of any of the others, but her eyes narrowed on the one lone figure, held at gun point and scrambled out behind the counter, grabbing the first thing her hand fell on.

She rushed out of the store towards Stiles, calling out loudly, “I got it! I found it.” she stopped beside them, looking at his confused expression when he spotted her, his hands still held up in front of him. “The one I was telling you about. See it has the ribbed…” She held up the condom box, before looking around her like she had just noticed the rest of their company, “Hi.”

Malia didn’t have to fake being terrified; she _was_ terrified. She was also out of her mind. Why was she even helping Stiles? She owed him nothing.

Stiles looked past her quickly, spotting the convenience store. “You pay for the gas, or you just popped out here?” he asked still looking behind her.

It felt surreal to be talking about day to day things, while being surrounded by Hale’s gang, who not two seconds ago were threatening his life. He only had the switch blade in his boot, and a small one tucked under his sleeve to protect himself, though he had been using his best weapon—the means of persuasion—before she had shown up.

“What?” Malia said before catching his drift, “Of course I did.”

Malia could see how all the others looked at the older guy in the middle. This must be the leader of the rival gang, Derek. She watched as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncertain.  

Stiles knew the picture they were painting was an innocent one. If he suspected the fib, the girl was still a new face and didn’t necessarily need to be a Wolf, to be seen with Stiles. There were too many risks involved in this. Either way, Hale would have to let him go, especially when there was an outsider involved.

Hale looked between the two teenagers, slowly, before nodding once. “Let’s go.” he said walking away from them. Stiles’ keen eye caught some disgruntled looks between some of the members, but they followed him reluctantly. He knew for a fact, that Hale’s second, Kate, had a bloodthirsty streak in her, and she was one of the last to leave, a calculative look in her eye.

Stiles didn’t even wait until they were out of sight, before rounding on her, his usual composure gone. “What the hell is _wrong_ with you? You don’t just walk in front of a guy whose holding a gun! He could have shot you!!” In a lower voice, he hissed, “ _What the hell are you even doing here_?”

Malia didn’t know how to respond the any of the first questions. She had been asking herself the exact same thing in her head, so she latched onto the last question he’d yelled out.

“I work here.” Malia looked back at the store, muttering to herself, “No wonder there was an opening.”

Stiles gave a humourless laugh, “You. You..I don’t even know what to do with you.”  He ran a hand through his hair angrily.

“Do with—I just saved your ass!” Malia snapped at him, getting fed up with his attitude. “I didn’t have to do any of that. God knows why I did! I mean, if this is the thanks I’m going to get—“

“Oh you want me to _thank_ the girl dumb enough to get a job here?!”

“You think the store owner wanted this area to be No Man’s Land? You people don’t even care whose lives get disturbed in all of this!” she waved her arms around her, her voice raising with every sentence. “And like he was going to mention that this was a war zone to me when I asked about the job. The guy wanted to hire someone, and I needed the fucking money, so _fuck off!!_ ”

Stiles grit his teeth, his jaws clenching tightly as he rubbed his forehead, where a headache was slowly forming. She had scared the shit out of him when she had run forward like that. Had Lucas been a hair breath slower in recognizing her not to be a threat, he would have shot her, and that terrified him.

“Just,” his voice dropped low, “..don’t do that again, okay?”

Malia crossed her arms over her chest, “Noted.” she said sarcastically.

At her flippant remark, Stiles’ hold on his anger and worry, broke. “You could have DIED Malia!!”

Malia froze. A stray thought flew into her mind, realizing this was the first time Stiles had actually said her name, her brain had been slow in processing this near death incident, but now that it was brought to the forefront, she started shaking uncontrollably, growing unsteady on her feet. She was trying to take deep breaths, but it felt like her lungs were completely empty.

She vaguely registered Stiles’ arms around her, pulling her close, holding her up. “Hey. You’re okay.” Stiles pushed her back at arms length, looking her in the eyes. “You’re okay.”

It was his steady, firm voice and presence that calmed her, allowed her to breathe steadily. Stiles’ tone wasn’t one used to comfort, almost like he didn’t know how, but she knew if he had seemed even a little bit sympathetic, she would have been that much harder to get a grip of herself.

“Let me take you home.”

—

When Stiles rode into the apartment complex, he found Scott standing in the front, leaning against his bike, his expression hard. He stopped a couple feet away, and waited for Malia to let go of his waist, where she was gripping it tightly in fear of falling off.

Stiles turned to look over to her shoulder, “I need you to let me go and then head straight upstairs, and lock your door. Understand?” Malia nodded mutely and climbed off, sparing him a worried glance before heading straight to the lobby.

Stiles watched her before killing the engine, making his way over to Scott, who was looking off to his right. They stood side by side quietly, until Stiles said, “She’s clean Scott.”

Scott turned his head to face him, expression unchanged, “How do you know that? More importantly, _why_ do you know that, hm?” Stiles was quiet beside him, his eyes downcast. “Unless she was that ‘something stupid’.”

“I was trying to be nice,” Stiles said softly.

“Nice?” Scott scoffed, “Nice gets you killed Stiles. And I highly doubt you knew anything about her before your ‘something stupid’. The rules are there for a reason. The rules protect us, you know this.”

“She saved my life, Scott; she got in front of a gun for me. We have to protect her from Hale.”

“No. This is on you. Your stupidity is what got her in danger. You want her protected? Do it on your own. This has _nothing_ to do with us,” Scott said, grabbing his helmet.

“Scott…” Stiles trailed off. He had nothing. Didn't know what he could do or say right now that would even make a little bit of a difference. He was wrong in every way. All he knew was, he couldn’t lose Scott. He couldn’t.

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched Scott ride away, anger and regret bubbling under the surface, and knew he had no one to blame but himself.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo Lovelies. Been a while since I updated, thought I’d take my Sunday to finish it. This was one long intense chapter. Looks like things are getting complicated for Stiles. A lot of almosts happened in this one. Loved it, hate it? Either way, hope you enjoyed the read! Much love


	7. It Feels like Rain

Lunch the next day was a quiet affair, a thick blanket of tension hanging over them. Everyone felt it, though there was no movement to discuss, with most of them falling in groups of two. Stiles sat hunched on a picnic table, taking bites of his food even though he wasn’t hungry.

Isaac took a seat beside him, pulling out an orange from his pocket, and placed a can of Coke—from god knows where—in between them. “You’re being quiet, even for you. What’s up?”

Stiles glanced briefly at the curly haired blonde and shook his head. To his surprise, Isaac didn’t move off to his usual place. Looking up a couple minutes later, he saw the boy had stopped peeling the orange in his hand, and was staring in front of him.

Stiles followed Isaac’s gaze, leading him to Liam showing Scott something on his phone, and Scott smiling at the screen, amused.

Liam had been hanging out with them a lot recently. Stiles recognized it as something Scott did with new members to slowly ease them into the dynamic of the gang—being invited to lunches, then hangouts, though in Stiles’ case, Scott hadn’t waited until Isaac had been comfortable with Stiles, before making him an official member. It seemed as though he was following a similar pattern with Liam.

After his talk with Lydia, Stiles had given the nod on Liam being clear, despite his hesitation. Ever since then, Liam ate lunch with them, but stuck mostly to Scott, occasionally talking to Lydia or Kira, but never the boys. Maybe he was smart in that way.

“The girls think we’re jealous,” he voiced aloud, watching them interact from the corner of his eye.

Isaac nodded, “Yeah, Kira told me to stop being a dick about it, that it was going to happen either way. Good to know my voice counts for something, right?”

“I don’t think I’d recognize you, if you weren’t being a dick,” Stiles said lightly.

“Fuck you, Stilinski,” Isaac retorted and he smirked in response. “So what’s going on between you and Scott?”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, looking down at the dry ham sandwich in his hand, before chucking it in a nearby garbage can. He couldn’t even taste the thing; it might as well have been paper.

“Come on. Like I haven’t noticed you two acting like a recently divorced couple who have the same friends.” Isaac rolled his eyes.

“It’s nothing.” Stiles shrugged, hoping Isaac would let it go.

Isaac cocked an eyebrow, “Could it be because you forgot to mention your wonderful bout with Tracy’s friend..? Or was it the more serious issue of _continuing_ to forget mentioning this to Scott?”

“You saw us.” Stiles stated, reminding himself yet again, never to underestimate Isaac. The guy could be sneaky when he wanted to be. It seemed unclear how much he actually knew, opposed to how much he was fibbing, but Stiles didn’t want to take any chances.

Instead of answering, Isaac pulled out a cigarette packet and held it out to Stiles. Stiles took a cigarette, as he waited for a response. Fiddling with his jacket’s inside pocket, he produced his lighter, and flicking it open, lit the cigarette between his lips. He took a long drag from it, blowing out the smoke before dropping the lighter into Isaac’s lap. He was started to suspect the prolonged silence had it more to do with making him squirm, than thinking about what to say.

“I _saw_ a guy fleeing for his life.” Isaac replied, the look directed at Stiles, disapproving. “I took care of it; don’t worry.”

Stiles was glad his friends were a loyal bunch, albeit in different ways. Kira’s loyalty was to Scott; had always been. They knew each other since they were little, Kira being Scott’s oldest, closest friend. Helping in keeping order was something she naturally overtook, when Scott had been passed the position of leader from her brother. Stiles could hardly fault her for doing the right thing by Scott.

Isaac’s loyalty, stemmed from protecting everyone, no matter how much he judged them for their actions. His ‘taking care’ of Stiles’ carelessness, showed how he had grown to accept Stiles into the gang, however reluctant he may have seemed in the beginning.

Isaac broke their companionable silence a few minutes after, “I think Derek finally tapped Cora into joining him. I don’t think she is the new recruit though.”

“You seem sure.” Stiles commented, tapping ash off the end of the cigarett, onto the table they were perched on.

Isaac narrowed his eyes at him, catching something in his tone, “You know already, don’t you?”

Stiles nodded, seeing no point in lying. Isaac knew all their tells. His past had made him watchful, waiting for the shoe to drop, the table turned. It was why he was the way he was, skeptic of everything. It’s how he had survived his dad for so long. “What did you see?”

Isaac shook his head, muttering softly, “You _are_ the right guy for the job.” It was like this was the first time he was admitting it to himself, at least out loud. 

Sighing, he continued, “She was comfortable, almost like…it wasn’t her first time being there. Saw her talking to some kids from Beacon High; they looked like sophomores, age wise. I couldn’t get close enough to hear them, without making it obvious though.” Stiles saw his point. Isaac was a bit of a tree in crowded places, “No way was she there by herself.”

“You told Scott?” Stiles asked, watching the smoke curl in the air, before disappearing from direct line of sight.

“Not exactly, but I was getting there. I told him he was being hasty with Liam. Said we didn’t need more people.”

“What happened?” Stiles glanced at their leader, knowing the conversation couldn’t have ended well. Scott didn’t take it lightly, when his decisions were challenged. He knew something was up the moment Isaac sat with him, but it surprised him that he hadn’t noticed this sooner.

“He told me to drop it; that it wasn’t my business. So of course, I went at him.”

Stiles straightened up, “Isaac..”

“I was angry. Do you know how many times he has dismissed me, like I didn’t know what I was talking about? I wanted him to hit me only so I could hate him, even for a little while,” Isaac continued like he hadn’t heard Stiles, “But he wouldn’t. He just—wouldn’t.”

Isaac’s situation at home had always been a delicate thing for Scott to handle, especially when it came to reminding him of his place. Isaac as they learned, didn’t have trouble being forceful towards others, but it’s something he couldn’t stand with his friends, his safe place.

It wasn’t often that he would act out physically, and only Scott was able to reign him back. But when it did happen, physical force was something Scott avoided.

“He waited until I was calm, and then I felt horrible.” Isaac admitted, “We didn’t talk after, we barely looked at each other. Then this morning, I apologized. He took it and I think we are okay, I’m not really sure.”

They fell right back into silence, each in their own thoughts. It was only close to the end of lunch when Isaac spoke again, as he collected his things to go.

“The thing with Scott…He’ll make sure you wish you had never crossed him in the first place. You can try convincing him all you like, but you would be wasting your time. Only when Scott thinks you deserve it, only when he’s sure you won’t try it again, will he forgive you.”

Stiles swallowed, not used to feeling so bare. If this was the way Scott was with tiny situations, no way was he letting him off easy. He knew he had fucked up badly. A Right hand was supposed to make the leader’s job stress free, not be the one to cause stress.

It was the shittiest feeling to be ignored by Scott; Stiles didn’t know how Isaac did it. He just wished Scott would tell him how he could fix this.

Isaac noticed the slight frown Stiles took on when something troubled him, and snapped his attention back to him, “Hey, look at me, Stiles. Look at me.” He waited until Stiles complied before saying, “Hold on. That’s just…the tough love talking. He’ll forgive you. He has to.”

Stiles scoffed at that. Isaac rolled his eyes as he stood up, not used to being the one to give pep talks, much less to Stilinski. “Look, I’m the _last_ person who would say this to you, but he was right to choose you as his second. Scott’s not impulsive. He clearly sees something in Liam that we don’t, and maybe it’ll take us some time to see it too.”

“But he’s not going to _drop_ you, because you made a mistake. You’re family. Remember that.” He threw the lighter back at Stiles, who caught it one handed, before walking away, jacket slung over his shoulder.

Stiles watched him leave. They were proof that people could slowly change their attitudes towards others. It was possible that they were overreacting to Liam joining them, but it had to mean something when _both_ him and Isaac had misgivings about the sophomore, right?

—

Half way through lunch, Lydia turned to her roommate who was sitting beside her, pouring over her notes for an upcoming test, “Okay something’s up. Are you going to tell me what happened or should I start guessing?”

Kira glanced at Lydia, noticing the stubborn set in her jaw. “What makes you think I know the answer to that?” she asked.

“Because you always know, and I don’t mean Scott tells you. I mean, you figure shit out, you just don’t share.”

Kira pursed her lips, wondering how much she could tell the fiery redhead. The topic of Stiles was a sensitive one for Scott. It was like Lydia could sense her hesitation because she prodded Kira with her foot, “Come on, Kira. Don’t keep me in the dark here.”

Kira relented, “No secrets from Scott,” she said, with a meaningful glance at Stiles.

Lydia’s eyes widened in surprise. In a whisper she asked, “Is it bad?”

Kira nodded in answer, bending back over her book.

“Anything we can do?”

“We can try to stay out of it.”

Lydia looked at the other girl, catching the way she stressed parts of the sentence. They shared a silent conversation, before nodding once to each other.

Then, Kira got up to move towards Scott and Liam, and Lydia walked towards Stiles, her heels clicking on the gravel pathway.

—

Stiles stood up and considered following Isaac, when he found Scott’s gaze on him. He took a hesitant step towards the other boy, but stopped when Scott turned away from him, the move clearly dismissive.

Just then, he felt a weight on his shoulder, and looked to see Lydia leaning an arm on him, “You need to talk to him.”

Stiles shook his head. “Someone should. It’s not me though.” With that, he took to the stairs leading to the high school’s back entrance.

Lydia sighed, “This is a mess,” she muttered to herself, hoping Kira would fair better than her.

__

Stiles went about the rest of his day, spending all his energy focusing on his classes and nothing else. He went straight home after school, instead of hanging out at Scott’s place like he usually did on Fridays.

It was well past nine by the time he began feeling hungry, and he knew the ham sandwich he threw away at lunch—a decision he was sorely regretting now—had been the last edible thing in the fridge that morning.

Going to the opposite side of his bed, fingers lifted a panel of wood, uncovering the cash he had saved up from his last dealing. Grabbing the money, Stiles grabbed his jacket and made a quick trip to the mini mart close to his place.

It was a colder night out, he could see his breath. He was outside on the turn before his apartment, when he rang Danny.

“What’s up?” Danny answered.

“Want you to do something for me.” Stiles said lowly. The street was empty, save the two guys in hoodies walking his way. “Find out if the kid has friends.”

“Everyone has friends, Stiles.”

“Just do it.” Stiles rolled his eyes, hanging up with a click, before Danny could make a comment on how rude he was being.

—

As soon as the bus dropped her at her five blocks away from the apartment, Malia kept an eye out for people walking down the street, frantically watching every shadow carefully, jerking at any sound, her apartment keys clutched tightly in her hands. She knew realistically, her assailant would have to be fairly close to her in order to get a swipe at him, but she felt safer with something in her hand, than nothing.

She had been on edge all through her shift, she was happy she wasn’t working the weekend. It looked like Derek had stationed a member of his gang outside the store—the one Stiles had referred to as Lucas, and she could see him loitering around the area whenever she looked out. By the time she was done her shift, he had disappeared but she couldn’t shake the feeling like she was being followed, as she left her work.

It was no surprise then, when Malia’s foot got caught, while hurrying down the dark, narrow street. Catching herself in time, Malia turned to glare at the offending crack in the sidewalk, when she spotted something long, jutting out from the side, but not a tree root as she had supposed. 

She stepped back and jumped when her foot hit a can of tomato soup, startling her as it rolled away. It was then that she noticed a plastic bag on the dried up patch of grass, like someone had dumped their litter on it. This looked like…She should leave. Whoever had a tussle here could still be nearby.

Malia just about turned around, when the street light to her side flickering on, showing her exactly what she had tripped over.

An arm. She had tripped over an arm. Malia’s heart was thudding so loudly in her chest, it’s the only thing she could hear. This was _not_ what she had signed up for, when she moved to this neighbourhood. She could still walk away. She _should_ walk away. This was none of her business.

Against her better judgement, Malia inched closer and crouched down, all the while thinking this was a trap. Any second now, someone was going to jump her, but still her curiosity was stronger than her instinct for survival. With shaky hands, her heart in her throat, Malia turned the body over and fell down in shock, biting back a scream.

There lying motionless on the ground, face pale and stark against the blood on his face, was Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.…which one of you Lovelies saw that one coming? For the record, #sorry not sorry :) Changed Kira a bit from canon, because the story called for it. The gang can’t just Start with Scott. A little bit evil of me with this cliffhanger, but would you even believe it if I said it had to happen?


	8. Undo this Storm

_With shaky hands, her heart in her throat, Malia turned the body over and fell down in shock, biting back a scream._ _There, lying motionless on the ground, face pale, stark against the blood on his face, was Stiles._

—

“Stiles?” Shock gave way to panic as Malia kneeled beside him, unsure what to do, hands flitting here and there.  

It was hard to think straight when her imagination was running wild, different possible scenarios passing through one after the other. Whatever might have happened, she didn’t know how long he had been laying there. She didn’t even know if he was breathing.

“Do something, Malia,” she tried to get herself together. “You have to do something.”

Taking a calming breath, and ignoring the metallic smell—she would deal with that later—she went to check for a pulse. It was something she had seen the paramedics do when her sister had an allergic reaction that one time. It took a couple tries with his wrists—she wasn’t sure if it was a pulse, or she was desperate to believe it had moved—but she found it; a faint but steady heartbeat, and she nearly collapsed over him in relief.

Now that that was over, Malia realized she would need help if it meant making sure Stiles’ heart kept beating. The cold couldn’t have been good for him and his pale complexion was all she needed to see, to know he had to be moved somewhere warmer, cleaner.

With trembling hands, she began feeling along his jacket, looking for the pocket that might have his phone. If she could call someone Stiles trusted, this would be a lot easier.

Malia had just reached around Stiles’ torso, when her fingers slipped on something wet, and her brain immediately registered what she had already suspected. Forcing herself to look down, Malia’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting, and saw how the blood had made the shirt under the jacket, dark.  Stiles was wounded and bleeding out.

Her heart beating rapidly in her chest, threatened to overwhelm her again, but she had to keep working, had to keep looking. Malia had no idea where this constant need to save Stiles kept popping up from, but at that moment she didn’t care.

Finding the jacket pockets empty, she moved down until she found his phone. Going through his recent calls and texts, she discovered them blank. Stiles had deleted traces of all the people he was in contact with on a day to day basis. 

Scanning the contacts, Malia noticed how Stiles had numbers of people but not names. With the lack of safety features on his phone, Malia could understand the extra caution, but it didn’t help her at all…

Praying this would work, Malia pressed 1 and sighed in relief when it rang. “I said I’m on it,” said a tired voice on the other end.

Malia was so surprised it wasn’t Scott, that she didn’t respond immediately.  Nor did he sound like anyone she knew Stiles hung out with regularly. Still, if they were outside of gang business and on his speed dial, that was good right?

“Hello?” the deep male voice cut through her musings. “Hey is everything okay?”

Hearing the concern, was what jostled Malia out, “No. It isn’t. He isn’t. I need your help.”  
—  
Malia paced close to Stiles, waiting for any signs of people approaching down the street. After making the call, she had tried to check where the wound was located, but it had been hard to see and she didn’t want to get it infected, if it hadn’t already. 

The part that scared her, was how well he had been hidden, like this had been planned. Who had known that Stiles would be here by himself? What if she hadn’t found him?

Thinking all this, she almost missed the truck that parked a couple spaces ahead of her. It was only when the driver got out and looked around, that she realized he was here for her. Jogging towards him, she only stopped momentarily, recognizing Danny. He was Stiles’ person? She hadn’t even known they were friends.

“Hi,” she said shortly. “He’s back there.” Malia pointed behind her, when she noticed Danny staring at her, open mouthed. Malia could just imagine the state of her clothes what with her leaning to check Stiles’ breathing. “It’s not mine; It’s Stiles’. I need your help.”

“What happened?” Danny asked as Malia led him back towards Stiles.  
“I don’t know. I was walking home, and I tripped, and that’s how I found him,” Malia said distractedly, missing the suspicious look Danny sent her way.

When Danny saw Stiles, the blood drained from his face. Knowing that getting mixed up in gangs was dangerous and seeing the result of what they had all been warned about, were two very different things—it being an abstract thought before. It didn’t make situations like this real. Until it did.

“Is he breathing?”

“Yes, but he’s out and lost a lot of blood.” Malia replied kneeling down beside the motionless boy.

“He was hit in the head?” Danny also knelt next to Stiles opposite Malia and almost immediately that distinct smell of blood hit his nose, making him feel faint.

“I assumed s—“ Malia caught sight of his expression. “Hey, Danny! Keep it together for a few okay?” Malia said, her voice steady even though she felt far from calm on the inside. Once all of this was done, she would have time to freak out. “I know it’s a lot, but I need you here with me.”

Danny swallowed the nausea threatening to rise up his throat. It was talking everything he had to pull himself together. He would not lose his shit. Not yet anyway. Danny took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, we need something to stop the bleeding.” He glanced at Malia and said, “Pass me your sweatshirt.”

Malia quickly complied, grateful that Danny refrained from commenting about the second hoodie underneath the one she had taken off.

The boy wrapped it around Stiles’ torso, using the sleeves to tie it to his waist, carefully turning him as he spoke, “Was there a weapon? Did you see how big the wound was?”

Malia wordlessly produced a knife she had found a few feet away while waiting for Danny to show up. Danny’s jaw dropped. Well, it wasn’t tiny. “I thought it was best to treat it properly and I didn’t want to make the wound worse,” Malia replied as she put the knife down. “We should keep it, if it will help later.”

“Its probably one of Stiles’.” Danny mused. “They knew he’d use it, given a chance, so that’s probably why they knocked him out first.” He caught Malia’s wide eyed look. “There is a reason why people say to stay away from him, you know?”

Malia pursed her lips, not liking the expression Danny was sending her way, like she should have known better. They didn’t have time for idle chatter and judging looks right now. 

Getting up, she began hunting around her bag. “I don’t have that much to treat him at home. There are some clean cloths you can use, but I need to hit a medical place to get the other stuff. Any places close by?” she asked handing him the keys to her apartment.

“There’s one at Turner’s Point, but it’s closed.”

“I’ll figure something out,” Malia responded, changing the subject quickly. “Use the elevator. Second floor, fourth door—that’s mine. Do you know what to do once you get there?”

Danny shook his head, “No idea.”

Malia bit her trembling lip. They were so out of their league. Life didn’t equip teenagers with knowledge on what to do with situations like this. She was getting a headache just by blinking her tears back, but she had to keep moving. “Look it up on the internet then. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

Danny didn’t ask what she was planning, already figuring out it was something illegal. It was best not to know sometimes. “Hurry.”

Malia didn’t need to be told twice.

—  
Malia came into her apartment half an hour later, bag crammed with medical supplies she had to break into the pharmacy to get. Who knew that time Kayla taught her to pick locks would come in so handy one day?

To beat the guilt that would surely follow, Malia had left the amount she would have paid, if the store had been open.

The first thing that came out of her mouth seeing Stiles laid on the couch was, “Is he still alive?” What had her world come to?

Danny nodded, looking completely worn out. He had taken Stiles jacket off as soon as he had entered the apartment, undoing the hoodie, and once placing him on the couch, used the knife to cut open his stained shirt. The bleeding had stopped for the time being, but as he searched the internet, it started up again.

“Put pressure here,” he said as Malia came over, dumping the bag on the floor beside them. “What did you get?”

“Gloves, lots of antiseptic stuff, scissors and medical tape… And a lot of that white cloth you wrap an injury in.” Malia said as she switched places with Danny. “What am I doing exactly?”

“You have to put pressure where my hand was. There is a vein there that might make the bleeding worse. Best way to prevent that, is to press it, to stop the access.”

“Okay…” Malia copied the way Danny had been sitting, before asking, “What else?”

“I have to make a saline solution to clean the wound with. That’s the fancy word for boiled water and salt basically.” Danny said over his shoulder, setting a pot on the stove, and pouring water from the tap into it. “I figured we could use that first, then apply the antiseptic cream before wrapping it in the gauze.”

“Good plan,” Malia said distractedly. She brushed Stiles’ fringe off his forehead with her free hand, fingers trailing lightly over the bruise growing on his cheek. They needed ice for it. Stiles body temperature had gotten better while she away, which was a relief. His face seemed to have some colour back, so they must be doing something right.

Danny turned around and watched Malia quietly. It had been hard work getting Stiles up here; he had worried he would make things worse the entire way.

He could hardly believe this was happening to someone he knew. Stiles had been his oldest friend, and they had gone through a lot growing up together. Stiles was the first person Danny had come out to, and it had given him the courage to take the final step in making this knowledge public.

Sometime along the way though, Stiles grew quieter, withdrawn and the change was so drastic, Danny hadn’t known what to say or do. Slowly they spent less and less time together—both meeting new people, making new friends—but somehow they kept each other close, like a reminder of when life was a little simpler, innocent, even if it was something as small as being a contact.  

Stiles probably didn’t think it small though. Having a contact doing legwork involved a certain amount of trust. He really shouldn’t be surprised then, that he was Stiles’ 1 on speed dial. 

“Should we have called the police?” Malia asked, breaking Danny out of his thoughts.

He shook his head, “They never would have come. Not this neighbourhood anyways. Turns out even a son of an ex-cop doesn’t mean much, once you don the Beacon Wolves jacket.”

“Stiles’ dad was a cop?” Malia raised her eyebrows surprised.

“Yeah…really makes you wonder how he got mixed up with the McCall gang. If you ask me, it’s a complete one eighty.”

“Maybe he got into it because of his dad,” Malia replied quietly. She had hoped talking to Danny would help her get an inkling to who Stiles was outside the stoic demeanour, but she had the distinct feeling he was just as clueless as everyone else. 

“So what’s your deal with Stiles anyway?” Danny asked casually. 

“Can you focus on the water right now?” Malia said, “The salt is in the cupboard to your right.”

“You’re dodging.” Danny commented, putting the stove off and following her instructions. 

“No deal.” she answered shortly.

“Now why don’t I believe you? You know if you’re with him, I can guarantee this will hap—“

“I’m not with Stiles!” Malia snapped. She caught the dry look directed at her and sighed. “I don’t know where this urge to help him comes from, okay. I don’t really understand it myself. But he sure is a lot more trouble than he’s worth.” she mumbled the last bit.

Danny smirked. There had to be more to the story than Malia was letting on, by the way she was squirming at the question. Also.. “You don’t own a jacket, do you?”  
—  
Malia was sitting on the chair adjacent to the sofa Stiles lay on, when he stirred. Danny had gone back home, before his mother noticed he hadn’t come back until late. It was a little past four in the morning by the time he left, and he assured her he would be back in the afternoon. It being Saturday, they weren’t too worried about his presence in the neighbourhood, but they were still being careful. 

This was the first time she had seen Stiles move, and Malia immediately rushed to his side, placing her hand on his chest. 

Before she realized what was happening, Stiles had bolted off the couch, grabbed the scissors by the table beside them, flicked it open, and pinned her to the wall, sharp edge pressed against her neck.

“Stiles!” Malia gasped, eyes widening in shock careful not to move, to even breath at this point. There was a sharpness to him that she had never noticed, or maybe it was that she hadn’t wanted to—but being faced with  _this_  Stiles, she had to wonder if he had ever killed someone before. 

Hearing her say his name, seemed to be what jolted Stiles out of whatever he had slipped into because he took a step back, the scissors clattering loudly to the floor. Malia swallowed hard as she stayed pressed against the wall not sure what to do now. 

Stiles on the other hand took another step back like he had never seen Malia before and looked down at his bare chest at the big bandage on his lower torso. Still keeping her within his line of sight,  Stiles half turned away from her, slowly observing his surroundings.

“Where am I?”

“My home,” Malia answered, watching him cautiously.

“Why?” Stiles seemed so on edge, Malia was afraid to move, but the sudden movement had caused his bandage to loosen and it was very important not to expose his injury in that manner. 

“I guess that answers that question,” Malia thought to herself. It seemed like Stiles didn’t remember the attack. 

Suddenly, Stiles’ knees buckled and he almost toppled down, catching hold of the back of a chair last minute. Malia shot forward then. “Okay back! Get back on the sofa!” she ordered, supporting some of Stiles’ weight against her.

Stiles felt so dizzy and weak, he let Malia lead him back to lie down. He couldn’t make heads or tails of his current situation, and the only person who could tell him anything was busy with pulling a bunch of things from the side of the couch—keeping the scissors as far away from his reach as possible. 

Stiles blinked a couple times, trying to fight the light headedness, looking down his chest. “This your work?”

“If you mean patched up, I helped. Me, the internet, and Danny.” 

Malia stayed quiet while she got things ready, frowning in displeasure. She knew her anger was misplaced. It wasn’t Stiles’ fault he had no idea what had happened to him. His reactions made sense. 

As she went to undo the bandages, Stiles caught her wrist. “What happened?”

Malia eyed their hands for a moment, before looking at him. “I found you right around the corner of Dekker and Bane unconscious, around ten last night,” Malia said quietly. “You were hidden so well, I almost missed you. Then I called Danny.”

“Danny…” Stiles felt like he was getting not even half the story here, but he let it go for now; things were too confusing at the moment to process much.

“He was on your speed dial.” Malia said simply. “I figured who better to call but the person you programmed as your number one.”

Stiles studied her, trying to figure out her angle. Was she really trying to help, or was it something out of a guilty conscience? His instinct said to trust her, and that surety made him nervous. He shouldn’t feel calm, but he was. His hand at that point was only cradling her wrist loosely, but she didn’t move away. 

“You found me.”

“I found you.” Malia agreed. Stiles seemed stuck on that fact, but she sensed that it held a lot of weight for him—like it was a hard thing for him to process. Like it was more than what it seemed; like the statement was a substitute for something else. 

“So you don’t remember anything?” 

Stiles frowned, trying to sift through the last moments before he blacked out, everything was hazy. “It’s okay. I’m sure it’ll come back eventually,” Malia said softly. “Now, why don’t you get some rest.”

Stiles was asleep almost immediately, he didn’t feel Malia sliding her hand down to grip his hand in comfort.  
—  
The next time Stiles woke, it was to sunlight hitting him directly in the face. He shut his eyes quickly, and waited a bit before opening them a crack and getting used to the light slowly.

It took him a couple seconds to remember where he was, last nights events rushing back to him—getting knocked out, waking up to Malia, and pinning her against the wall. He must have been really out of it, if he jumped to attack mode that quickly. 

Stiles felt like his entire body had gotten a pounding, which it probably had. His muscles ached, and his cheek throbbed so much, it made him wince—he could just picture his bruised up face. He hoped it wasn’t as bad as it felt. 

Sitting up, Stiles examined the side of his stomach, wondering if the wound was as big as the bandage. He remembered Malia cleaning it last night—or was it this morning—but hadn’t gotten the chance to look at the damage itself. 

Across from him, Malia was curled up in a ball, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. The position looked uncomfortable but she was sound asleep, her hair fluttering occasionally around her face. 

Stiles moved to stand carefully, testing his weight at every step to ensure the boards wouldn’t creak if they did. His apartment was full of those spots. The clock in the kitchen read eleven, which would explain why it was so bright in the apartment. 

Finding his jacket on the floor, he ruffled through the jacket for his keys and sneaked out the door, pulling it closed softly. If he was lucky, he could leave and come back without Malia being the wiser. 

No one saw him take the elevator to the next floor, or he would have had a hard time finding a reason to be shirtless, and bashed up the way he was. Walking into his apartment felt weird. It looked exactly the way he left it, all innocent. 

Swiftly, Stiles went through his closet and pulled a couple shirts and pants to take with him. The room was too cluttered for him to actively hunt for anything else, so after he had gathered the bundle in his hands, he made his way back to Malia’s place. 

Stiles opened the door as softly as he could, but he shouldn’t have bothered because Malia was wide awake, a frenzied look on her face that reddened at the sight of him. 

“Where were you?!” she cried, even before Stiles shut the door.

“I needed clothes.” Stiles gestured to the charcoal grey shirt he was wearing. 

Now that she knew he was alright, Malia tried to breath normally. “You could have woken me up.”

“I didn’t want to.” Stiles said softly.

Malia sighed shoulders slumping, fight going out of her, “Just…don’t do that..to me.”

Stiles walked slowly to where Malia was standing to put his things down, getting close enough that she had to raise her eyes to look at him. He didn’t do apologies, but today was the first time in two years, that he felt he should. Nothing came though, so he ended up simply observing her face. 

Malia looked tired. She must have not gotten a lot of sleep, and Stiles felt guilty to be the cause of that. He still couldn’t figure out why someone he barely knew, would go to such lengths to save him. He was grateful, he was…and now would be the best time to say so. But again he stayed silent, keeping those thoughts to himself.

Malia felt a slight blush grow on her cheeks. Having Stiles’ gaze so intently fixed on her, made her nervous and she swallowed, looking away. It seemed like he was back too his quiet—man of few words, rarely asking questions—ways now that he was feeling better. Great.

“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat something.”

“Okay. What d’you want?” Malia asked, thinking about what she had in the fridge, that she could whip up quickly.

“I..” Stiles paused, gaining her attention back to him. Stiles never hesitated when he spoke to her before, “I can make something. You should rest.” 

An irritated corner of her mind thought of how regular people would have carried this conversation. A ‘maybe you should rest’ or ‘why don’t you’. Stiles, she concluded, was not normal. She should stop expecting him to be. And what if he left again, this time going outside. 

Her wariness to move must have showed because Stiles quietly added, “I won’t leave.”

Malia eyed him a moment longer before brushing past him, practically falling on the couch. “Check the expi…” Malia mumbled into the pillow, but the physical and emotional exhaustion that had been building, took over, and she never ended up finished her sentence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long awaited huh Lovelies? This chapter is a pretty lengthy, but I covered all that I wanted to in here, so I’m happy. I’m sure with the wait, no one minds :) At this point with this story, I sincerely hope Google doesn’t keep track of my searches because well… Anyways, hope you liked it. Cheers!


	9. Can't Stand to Fall Down

“Anything exciting happened while I was away?” Danny asked with a glance toward Stiles sleeping on the couch.

Malia bit her lip and considered telling him about Stiles leaving and coming back, but for some reason she kept it to herself. Stiles’ actions had surprised her and it felt like a private moment between them. Instead, she shared the other ‘exciting’ event that took place.

“You missed the spectacular performance of Stiles launching himself at me with scissors.”

“What! Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I was more worried about his bandages, I didn’t really get a chance to be too upset with the whole thing,” Malia continued shrugging. “I think mostly it’s because of the unfamiliar surroundings, but you should have seen the way he zeroed in on them like that; it was kind of amazing.” 

Danny looked at her gaping a little. “You get fascinated at all the wrong things, Malia. You have no self preservation do you?”

“Was he always like this?” Malia asked ignoring Danny’s last comment. “Serious and anti-social?” 

Danny shook his head. “Stiles was very talkative when he was younger. Out of us two, I was the quieter one. I think the change had to do with his mom? He got really distant after she died. Kind of shut out everyone else. Plus he doesn’t have the best relationship with his dad and there was no one else Stiles could go live with.”

“So complicated personal life, and add the death of a mother.. leads you to gangs?” Malia cocked her head.

“Hey I don’t know the details. Stiles shut me out too, and after that we kind of drifted apart; made new friends.” Danny’s shoulders slumped, “It not like I didn’t want—I wanted to be there for him you know? But you can’t really help someone that doesn’t want your help.” 

Malia looked at him sympathetically. Eventually she ventured, “Here’s the thing. Stiles has quick reflexes. He has to, with the way he moved so easily. So…why was it so easy for his attackers to sneak up on him?”

“Well—“  
—  
Danny nudged Stiles with his knee to wake him up. It was almost dinnertime and he had slept most of the day away. 

Stiles cracked his eyes open, and when he found brown eyes that were not Malia’s looking down at him, he snapped to a seated position—wincing at the quick movement—until it registered that it was only Danny.

“Jumpy.” Danny commented. “But I already knew that.” He nudged Stiles again, clearly wanting to sit down, so Stiles moved his legs to make room. 

“So, you attacked the girl who saved your life.”

Stiles fell against the arm rest, “Don’t remind me.”

“I guess that means you didn’t see who it was.”

Stiles was quiet for sometime. “Not their faces, but they were definitely amateurs,” he looked down at his stomach. “Couldn’t even kill me properly.”

Danny stared at him, “Dude, are you serious? Stiles, you had lost a lot of blood by the time I got there!”

“Yeah but if the intent was to kill me, there are better ways to do so,” Stiles calmly explained, “Even in a situation to make the person bleed out quickly, there are a couple places you can target with just slashes.” Stiles pointed them out on his body. “A stab to the stomach doesn’t really kill a person majority of the time. Maybe if they had targeted the liv—“

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Danny interrupted, already disturbed by the topic. He shook his head at Stiles, “Only  _you_  would complain about not being murdered correctly.” 

“I’m just saying: amateurs.” Stiles shrugged. 

“Yeah well. Don’t say it in front of Malia.” 

Stiles pursed his lips, quietly agreeing with that statement. The way Malia had reacted to him leaving for a few minutes, was enough to know she was traumatized to a certain extent. His mind drifted back to that morning and his decision to go back. It wasn’t just the guilt talking; it was more than that.  

He was responsible for dragging her into his business, and given his current state, he didn’t know how to protect her from possible attempts at her life. 

Stiles was also beginning to see that Scott was right. The rules protected them but more importantly, it protected others from them. Why had it taken him so long to realize that?   
—  
Scott walked into the hospital at 10 am Sunday morning, heading straight to the nurses station where he knew his mom would be stationed at this hour. Melissa looked as worn out as a person pulling a double shift. He had no doubt she had gone through several cups of coffee and would go through several more.

“How many times have I told you coffee makes the drop worse?” Scott said as soon as he was within earshot of her.

Melissa smiled at the sound of her son’s voice. This was an old argument of theirs—Scott trying to get her to switch to a healthier alternative, and her stubbornly refusing to abandon her choice beverage. They were equally stubborn in their ways, it was no wonder the discussion had persisted.

“Brought me food?” Melissa looked at him over the counter, and reached for the plastic bag passed to her.

Scott watched as she opened it, looking at all of her favourite foods placed in the container, but no happy exclamation accompanied it. “Something wrong?” he asked trying to look over the counter.

Melissa sighed. “No its not this. Lynn called a couple hours back, I only just checked my messages before you came in. Someone broke into the pharmacy.” Scott straightened up upon hearing that. The pharmacy was in his territory. “It looks like they picked the lock, took stuff, and then locked it back up.”

“That’s weird. How much did they steal?”  

“Well…they didn’t steal exactly.” Melissa frowned. Scott’s eyebrows shot up. “Lynn doesn’t know what was taken yet, but money was left on the counter.” She glanced at Scott, “Not one of yours I take it.”

Scott shook his head, “We wouldn’t need to steal. But breaking in and paying? Sounds like someone has a guilty conscience.” 

“Think it’ll be easy to catch them then?”

“Probably not…they broke the law, but not really?”

“And it must have been really urgent if breaking in was necessary.”

“You do realize if they hadn’t left the money, it would have taken a while to realize stuff was missing?” Scott gave her a crooked smile. 

“Yeah, that’s not lost on me.” Melissa smiled back. 

Melissa returned to her paperwork, when she became aware of her son still standing there. Usually he would have left by now. “What is it? What’s bothering you?”

Scott shook his head, “Nothing.”

“You think that will work on your mother?” Melissa asked dryly. 

Scott pursed his lips and looked about them. Not many people were around, but he was still cautious. He didn’t want anyone to hear what he had to say.

“Stiles and I aren’t talking.” he said finally. Melissa looked surprised but waited to comment until he was done. “He kept something from me,” Scott’s eyes took a hard edge, “He started lying. He broke one of the most important rules. That’s not something I can forgive easily. 

“I don’t want to put everyone in a situation where they start picking sides, but I sense the tension rising already. I know what I’m doing is right. He has to know this isn’t okay. What I can’t seem to wrap my head around, is why he would want to damage our trust over a  _girl_.”

Melissa thought about what to say to her son. She knew how important it was to tread on this subject. Scott had always taken protecting his gang very seriously. If something went wrong, he blamed himself. No one saw this side to him. 

She knew how long it had taken, before Scott was sure getting a Second after Allison, didn’t mean he was replacing her—her death still weighing heavily on his shoulders. 

The fact that he had bonded so closely with Stiles, she knew was one of the reasons this was hard to stomach. Despite being a new member, Stiles had become one of Scott’s best friends and she knew he wasn’t one to take these kind of titles lightly.

“Did you ask him for an explanation?” she asked gently. 

Scott’s lips drew into a thin tight line, “The truth came out because he was caught. At this point, it’s not an explanation, it’s an excuse.”

Melissa tried again, “Let me ask you something. What would you have done if Stiles had come clean to you himself?” Scott looked up sharply at his mother, who returned it with her level gaze. “There’s your answer.

“Talk to him Scott. This is Stiles we’re talking about. The only way you will solve this, is if you hear his side of the story.”

Scott sighed, “You know, Kira said the same thing. Didn’t even know specifics but..”

“Well you know its good advice when both the important women in your life have the same answer.” Scott gave her a small smile. “Hear him out. There must be a deeper reason for his behaviour apart from the obvious.”

“Thanks mom.” Scott said softly. 

“Sure. Just promise me something,” Scott gave her an agreeing look, “Stop brushing off Isaac.”  
—  
When Stiles woke up the next morning, one of the first sounds he heard was his stomach rumbling with hunger and the second, a shower running.

Relieved Malia and him wouldn’t have a repeat performance of yesterday, he got up and headed for the kitchen looking for something to eat. 

Some short minutes after, Malia came out of the bathroom fully dressed with still wet hair, dampening the shirt she wore. “Oh good. You found the leftovers.” she commented at Stiles sitting at her table.

“It’s tasty. You’re a good cook” Stiles replied, catching Malia’s surprise at his willingness to participate in small talk. Maybe today wouldn’t be so awkward after all. Malia ducked her head, a small smile lighting up her features at his compliment. Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied to have been the cause of that smile—he was going soft.

Clearing his throat, Stiles put the plate down and laced his fingers together, not really knowing where to go from here. He wasn’t known to be talkative, and from spending time with her here and there, he knew Malia was the opposite. She practically needed to talk. It took barely a couple seconds before she proved his point.

“So um..I was thinking maybe we could get you washed up today? I have to figure out how not to get the gauze…where are you going?” Malia cut herself off watching Stiles walk away and enter the kitchen. 

She heard drawers open and close and then Stiles came back a few seconds later, smoothening the cellophane wrapped firmly over the bandage before pulling the shirt down. 

Malia’s jaw dropped a little at the casualness of it all. “You do this a lot?” she asked, still eyeing his covered stomach. 

Stiles shrugged, “When I need to.”

“How often is that?” 

Stiles put his hands in his pant pockets. “Why do you care?” he asked quietly. 

“I don’t.” Malia shook her head, “I’m just curious.”

Stiles licked his bottom lip, contemplating how much to share. He didn’t want to scare her. “Five.” He replied watching her eyes widen. “It’s been really bad five times.”

“And how many times were you close to dying?” Malia asked slowly, afraid of the answer.

Stiles’ eyes narrowed. Malia asked too many prying questions, and as much as he was grateful to her for saving his life, it didn’t mean they were friends. “The towels are in the bathroom I assume.”

Malia recognized when a subject was closed. She had shut down many inquiring minds in the past, who prodded into her life to the point of making her uncomfortable, so she went along with it, tone brisk. 

“Use the hand towel. We’re going with a sponge bath technique just in case. Your clothes are on my bed,” she pointed to the door. “And after you’re done, I’ll teach you the proper way to wrap your wound.”

Stiles nodded once and made his way to the appropriate door. 

—  
After his bath, Stiles stood in front of the foggy mirror and used the towel to wipe it down. Today was the first time he had seen himself in the mirror. The bruise on his cheek wasn’t so bad; he’d had worse. It was probably too late to put ice on it, but that tube of ointment he had given Malia might have been nice. Stiles wondered if she had used it while he was asleep, but that was another conversation he wanted to avoid. 

He remembered more of that night, than he had let on. In addition to being stabbed with his own fucking knife, his assailants had kicked him while he was down. It was probably a good thing he had passed out in seconds. He looked at his back and scowled. One giant fucking bruise.

Slipping a rust coloured shirt over his head, Stiles leaned his arms against the sink, and thought about his and Malia’s conversation. earlier. What kind of person asked Scott’s Righthand how many times they almost died? Stiles had very low expectations of being alive long enough to graduate. 

The only reason he hadn’t given up and dropped out of school, was because of the promise he had made to his mom. Some things were just out of his control, but he would honour that promise as long as he could.

When Stiles left the bathroom, the flat was quiet. Malia’s shoes were missing, so she must have gone out. He was surprised at how quickly she trusted him enough not to leave, and he was tempted to do just that. He needed more stuff from his room, but decided to go when Malia came back; it was a safer option than have her go off on him again. 

To pass the time, Stiles snooped around a little. The closet in the front hall confirmed his suspicions—Malia didn’t own a coat. Today was a relatively warm day out, so even if she did own one, she wouldn’t have it on her today. Next, he went to the kitchen and found Charlotte, his knife the attackers must have used on him.

“Shit.” Stiles looked down at his bandaged stomach. She was the bigger of the two he carried on him at all times outside of school, not counting the small blade made to look like a pen in his pencil case. He and Kira had gotten one each, knives being kind of their thing.

He decided to leave her in the kitchen, and strolled into Malia’s sparely furnished bedroom. It looked like Malia had tried to inject herself personality into it, but didn’t know where to start. 

There were no photos of any kind which was expected if she had been in the foster system. Lydia had been in the system until she was adopted at a young age, so he knew a little about the no attachment thing.

There were some old and faded posters on the walls looking like they had been carefully torn from a magazine spread. The room consisted of a single bed with shelves above it and a small closet to the side. Some story books were placed on shelves along with her school books, and like her posters, had worn covers.

Stiles pulled out a book that was dog eared so much, it had to be a favourite. Opening it, a photo fell out and slid onto the bed. Stiles reached down and picked it up. Four smiling faces were turned toward the camera, one of them being Malia. 

She looked to be ten or twelve in the picture, and she had her arms wrapped around a girl who looked younger than her. Stiles looked at the back of the photo to see if there was a caption. It simply read “The Tate’s”, in cursive writing. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they were fostering or thinking of adopting her. He wondered what had happened.

Putting the photo back into the front of the book, he placed it in the exact same spot as he found it. As he was about to leave, his eyes fell on a box with a weird design on it. Strangely, a pack of cards with the identical design on it, was sitting outside the box.

“You have got to be kidding me..” Stiles muttered rolling his eyes. Malia had no idea how to be inconspicuous.    
—

Malia came home an hour later, sorting out the bags she had brought in, when she sniffed the air, before marching into the living room.

“You poked around my room?!”

“Mhmm,” Stiles was lying on the couch, her Biology textbook leaning against his thighs, and a weed joint in one hand.

“Is that my textbook?” she asked irritated.

“Sit down,” Stiles twiddled the joint between his fingers, “you look like you could use one.” Malia crossed her arms, staying where she was.  Stiles locked with her eyes then. He sighed, swinging his legs over until he was in a seated position. “I was bored. Then I discovered how bad you are at hiding things, and it’s my weed so…”

Malia’s shoulders dropped. “Fine, but open the window. And remind me to teach you how to bandage yourself up later.”

“Don’t like playing nurse?” Stiles blew the smoke in her direction as she sat down. Malia gave him a scathing look and snagged the joint from his fingers, taking a hit.

“Oh god. I  _did_  need this.” Malia’s eyes closed as she allowed herself to sink into the couch with a contented sigh.

Stiles looked her way and with her eyes closed, was able to look his fill. His weed hazed mind had a lot of complimentary things to say about her, things he would normally not think about—like the roundness of her cheeks tinged with pink, her multi-coloured hair shining in the light, and the soft pout of her mouth. She had nice eyes too.

He leaned over towards her, and just that second Malia’s eyes opened, going wide at their close proximity. Stiles continued to lean in, and Malia found herself holding her breath, but then she felt Stiles’ fingers pluck the joint from her hand and just like that the spell was broken. 

Feeling embarrassed with herself, she scooted back leaving some space between them—just in case the weed made her do something stupid. She needn’t have been worried, because the playful mood evaporated when Stiles spoke after the long stretch of silence.

“I need to go upstairs.”

“Ahh, I should have guessed you had an ulterior motive.” Stiles shrugged, neither confirming or denying the accusation. She turned to face him a little more. “Why? Need more clothes? Weed?”

“I need books for my classes tomorrow.” 

Malia gave a dramatic sigh, but her eyes were serious. “I don’t think you understand how serious this is. Someone out there wants you  _dead_ , Stiles and they almost succeeded. I don’t know what kind of life you lead and if this is normal for you, but its not normal for me, and whether you care or not, I’m stuck in this with you.” Stiles didn’t say anything, staring at his hands.  

“Why the hell would you want to attend school anyways? I would be beyond happy to bunk.” Malia waited for Stiles to speak. She had a feeling that this time he wouldn’t brush her off; she was right.

“I made a promise to my mom,” Stiles said quietly and Malia sat up straighter hearing that, suddenly feeling a whole lot sober. Danny had told her of Stiles’ mom passing away. 

“She wanted to see me graduate.” Stiles shook his head. “It’s like she knew she   didn’t have a lot of time. She was trying to make sure I didn’t completely screw up my life.” Stiles licked his lips. Except Scott, he hadn’t told anyone this. “I’ve already had two suspensions. I miss classes and I’m out for good.”

“So you can’t miss school…” Malia finished. They sat quietly again, when a thought came to her, “What about your dad?” 

Stiles raised his head slowly at her. “No.”   
—  
Stiles sat on Malia’s bed, the door closed in front of him. He jabbed numbers on the cell in a pattern that was so familiar but one he wished he could forget. 

The phone rang so many times, Stiles was ready for the answering machine. He hoped his father had changed it from his mom’s happy greeting, but he knew if it was him, he never would—even if it hurt to hear every time.  

“Hello. Who is this?” 

“Dad.”

“St _iles._ What d’you want?” The ex-cop stressed his name like it was poison. Stiles gripped the cell with his fingers and tried to talk, but the words were stuck in his throat. He swallowed tightly, and forced them out. 

“I need a favour.” Stiles had never asked him for anything; even as a kid it was always his mom he went to—but that was mostly because he used to be scared of the man who was supposed to love them, but only ever drank and abused his mom and him with spiteful words.

Unknowingly those feelings of terror had resurfaced. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, bumping his head on the wall behind him. It was so hard to do this. “I need you to call the school and tell them I have the flu.”

The line went quiet. It stayed quiet for so long, Stiles thought he had been hung up on. The silence didn’t surprise him though. He didn’t think the words  _I need you_  would ever come out of his mouth when talking to his dad, and certainly not in that order.

“What did you do?” The gruffness in the other man’s voice was softer this time. 

Stiles hadn’t thought so far ahead. He didn’t think he would get this far. He couldn’t tell him what had actually happened, but he had to give a good enough reason to get his help.

“I fell down.”

“You fell down?” There was a note of irritable disbelief on the other end of the line. Before the man could actually hang up on him, he rushed on. 

“Two long flights of stairs. There were shards of glass on there. Probably hit the railing on the way down. It isn’t pretty.” Stiles winced. He might as well be seven again, with that god awful fib he just fed his dad.

“How deep did the glass go?” 

At that moment, Stiles knew his dad knew exactly what he wasn’t saying. “I’m still here, so not deep enough I guess.” There was another long, agonizing pause. 

“Do you need a doctor?” 

Stiles could handle a lot of things. He could handle life without his mother; he could deal with near death experiences; all the lies he had told over the years, the people he had hurt. All these things were manageable. What he could not fucking handle, was the concern in his dad’s voice. 

“I’m fine.” Stiles’ voice cracked. “I’ve been fine.” The ‘without you’ went unsaid, but he knew they both thought it. 

“A week. If you need more, let me know.” The line went dead shortly after. 

Stiles sat on Malia’s bed for a long time, vision blurred with unshed tears; a mess of feelings curling inside him of relief and...he didn’t even know what else, but it _hurt_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A month since an update Lovelies?! So sorry, but on a plus side, longest chapter yet (4000+ words) A bit of a somber ending, but a good bit of Stalia in this one. I find when writing, it is easy to villainize characters and I didn't want that for Scott in here. I went through a couple versions of every scene this time, before I was satisfied with the outcome. I’m hoping you don’t hate me for the Stalia tease too much and hope you liked it.


	10. In the Moon's Shadow

Isaac was sitting in science class doing a very good job at not paying attention as he doodled on his binder cover, when someone hit him on the arm.

“Stop it.” Tracy beside him, looked angry. Isaac cocked his brow in confusion. “Don’t play dumb with me asshole!”

“Trust me babe, if something I did was going to rile you up this much, I would take full credit for it.” He smirked when Tracy blushed at the endearment even thought it was said sarcastically.

“Whatever. Just..keep to your side.”

“Of course. Which I had been doing anyways before you rudely hit  _me_  in the—,” his muttering was cut short as his phone vibrated. Pulling out to read the message, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Barely a beat later and he was out of the classroom. It wasn’t like he was learning anything anyways. The teacher didn’t even notice him slip away, he doubted she would realize he was gone. 

He turned around the corner to where Scott was leaning against some lockers, waiting for him. “Wow. Scott McCall getting me to skip class,” he said once he joined him.

“This is important.” Scott started walking towards the exit closest to the parking lot. 

Isaac fell in step with him. “Still a huge deal. Aren’t you the one that’s always going on about your future and the importance of education?” Scott turned to him slowly, cocking an eyebrow. Isaac ducked his head. Okay so maybe that was a little out of line. “So, whats up?”

“There was a break in at the pharmacy late Friday night.” Scott started, “I only found out yesterday though.” At Isaac’s questioning glance, he added, “Mom was working the overnight shift. She heard the voicemail sometime Sunday morning.”  
  
Scott paused pushing the door open, immediately being bathed in bright sunlight before adding, “I need you to see how easy it was to get in.”

“You want me to test the lock?” Isaac asked, a smile growing on his face. Scott tried very hard to hide his. It was after all how they met—Isaac breaking into his house to munch on some cereal.   

“‘There is milk in the fridge if you want.’ I still can’t believe that was your reaction to finding me.” Isaac shook his head in wonder, “You were supposed to call the cops. I was supposed to run for it.”

“You were hungry. The logical course of action was to feed you.” Scott shrugged, swinging the ring of his keychain in circles around his finger. 

“I don’t know how to break it to you, but you’re wrong.” Scott chuckled quietly. “I’m being serious McCall, you’re not normal.”

Scott patted him on the arm, “You’re welcome.”  
—  
Isaac whistled, “There isn’t even a hint of suggestion that the lock was tampered with. You said they broke in and locked it up again? Impressive.”

They were outside the door to the pharmacy, Isaac kneeling down studying it. Scott stood beside him arms folded, suppressing an eye roll at the comment. “Now’s not the time to be praising the skills of our burglar, Isaac.”

“Right.” 

“I’ll go in and see if Lynn has prepared that list for me yet. I’ll see you inside.”

Hearing the latch being turned, Isaac got to work. Fifteen minutes later, he came inside looking disgruntled.

Scott smirked, knowing the answer already. “Still impressed?”

“I’m annoyed.” Isaac scowled. “They’re good. Either someones brushing up on their skill, or we got a new lock picker in town.”

“Lynn told me this one was supposed to be more secure. The place had already been broken into twice.”

“Yukimura’s time,” Isaac nodded absently, referring to Scott’s predecessor—Kira’s older brother. 

Scott frowned at the blonde. Isaac sounded sure. “It was you?” 

Isaac fiddled with the piece of paper on the counter in front of Scott. “My old man got careless sometimes but he didn’t want to deal with the mess, just wanted it covered up.  I guess he thought it would look suspicious if he started buying medical supplies in bulk. That or he didn’t care what I did to hide the..” 

He glanced at the sheet he was playing with, turning it so he could read what it said, “This the list?”

They didn’t talk about the abuse Isaac suffered while living with his dad. Scott hadn’t needed details, and Melissa hadn’t either—the bruises had been enough. 

Scott, recognizing Isaac’s need to switch topics, said  “Lynn was kind enough to put it together for me.”

Isaac looked up at his dry tone. “Didn’t stick around with her theory of what the burglar wanted?”

Scott had stopped being surprised at the lack of helpfulness every time him and his people were involved. Melissa’s son or no, he was still the leader of a gang. This tended to put him in a severe disadvantage when it came to detective work. That usually came under Stiles responsibilities, but with the tif they were having, and the lack of his presence at hangouts, Scott had to deal with this on his own. 

Scott shrugged, watching as Isaac turned his attention back to the writing. He still remembered a time where Isaac had been too scared to sleep with the lights turned off. Teaching him how to use a gun had been the best thing he had done. Scott was lucky though that the boy hadn’t turned vengeful with this new sense of power, but secure—protected. He stood straighter now, but that did not mean hints of how he used to be wouldn’t bleed through time to time. 

“Scott…” Isaac saying his name, pulled him out of his thoughts. “All these things are used to treat cuts. Judging by the quantity taken, a big one.”

Scott looked toward the right side of store. Lynn was stocking the shelves at the back, but he noted slower movement to the brisk pace she usually had. He silently pointed to the door. Isaac taking the hint, followed him. 

“It’s been quiet.” Scott said once they were outside, munching on some fries; they had missed lunch. 

“Too quiet maybe?” Isaac suggested. Scott didn’t respond. “It could have been a squabble that got violent.”

Scott shook his head at that, “I would have heard of it by now. Especially a weapons fight.” Scott pressed his lips together. “Do  me a favour and don’t mention this to anyone.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. We need people on this,” Isaac countered. 

Scott clenched his jaw. No one except Isaac talked back to Scott like this—with straight out opposition. “No. The lesser the better,” he said quietly but with finality. 

The curly haired boy bit his lip, dropping his eyes down, recognizing the warning in time. He didn’t understand his weird impulse to push Scott’s buttons all the time. 

“Any point going to school now?” He ventured after a while. 

Scott shrugged, “I had a spare.” Hearing Isaac spluttering beside him, he added, “I’ll have mom write you a note.”   
—  
If Malia thought she was acting jumpy that day after meeting Stiles and realizing who he was, she was downright paranoid now. Every person that spent more than three seconds making eye contact, made her nervous. The anonymity of Stiles’ assailant, coupled with whether they had witnessed Malia’s involvement, had her on constant edge. 

She sat through her morning classes having learned nothing, and kept her head down when in hallways. She knew the more skittish she was, the more suspicious she looked, but she had never been good dealing with the aftermath of a reckless decision. 

Tracy of course noticed the odd behaviour, finally snapping at her during lunch, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’ve been acting weird all day! You on hard drugs or something?” 

Malia found herself wishing that were the case. “No, I just—“ Malia stopped. She had been so wrapped up with the events of the weekend, she hadn’t even thought of what she could say if anyone asked. 

“You—you’re not in trouble or anything right?” Tracy asked hesitantly, catching how Malia seemed to hunch a little more than usual. “You can tell me you know. I know people. I can help.” 

Malia stared at the girl in front of her, trying to hide her fear. She couldn’t help but think everyone was a suspect. This was getting ridiculous. Not everyone was out to get her. She kept the Stiles thing to herself either way.

“No,” she sighed, “Maybe Mercury is in retrograde again.” 

“What?”

“It’s this thing when Mercury comes into Earth’s—“

“You’re such a nerd.” Tracy snorted, cutting her off, before linking her arm with Malia’s. “Come on. Lets go to class. You can find more things to nerd about there.”

Malia smiled softly, as Tracy chatted with her about what a jackass Isaac had been to her in science class, before he had left abruptly. 

“I think he would be a good person to have hate sex with though,” Tracy mused out loud. The comment caught her so off guard, Malia burst out laughing, shoulders loosening considerably. Trust this girl to think such things..

“What? I mean I’d never actually go through with it, but damn that whole bad boy vibe is so hot. Makes you wanna…you know?” Tracy bounced her eyebrows up and down suggestively.

Malia thought back to Stiles. Stiles with his constant mussed up hair—with or without hair gel—that easy confident gait in which he walked, and those dark eyes tinted with danger, yeah she did know. She knew all too well.   
—

The rest of the day went a little better, Malia actually managed to forget she was on edge. By the time she head to work, her guard was down considerably. It was only when she was settled behind the counter, did the nerves return.

Most of her shift was spent, obsessively watching the door and biting her nails. Malia sighed in relief as the clock stated fifteen minutes to closing. All her worries were for nothing. Just as she started to clean up, the bell above the door dinged and in walked none other than Cora Hale.

Malia froze, broom in hand as Cora made her way over, leaning against the counter casually.

“Can I help you with something?” Malia slipped her work persona on, her other hand hovering near the panic button. 

Cora made a show of thinking about it, “I don’t know…probably not. You don’t sell bullets here do you?” 

Malia stiffened, willing her breath to stay even, even as her palms started sweating. She quickly took stock of the situation. Cora didn’t know the Beacon Wolves didn’t have her back, just that she was somehow linked to Stiles, and was currently feeding off that information. All Malia had to do, was keep her talking and maybe she would reveal whether she was involved with the attack on Stiles.

Cora oblivious to her thought process, did exactly as she hoped. “So how long have you and Stilinski been fucking?” 

She was blunt, Malia would give her that. When she didn’t immediately respond to the inquiry, Cora flashed her the gun, holster attached to her belt.

“What was the question?” Malia asked, eyes on the gun, her mask of calm was slipping. Her fingers shook so much under the counter, she wouldn’t be surprised if she prematurely pushed the button. 

“Stilinski.” Cora said his name like she was talking to a slow person. “Seems to be lacking in every department. I would have picked Lahey or someone like that.”

Malia’s eyes narrowed. What was it about Isaac that made girls want to bone him? Not once had he appealed to her in that way. 

To Cora, Malia said, “Not in that department,” hoping that’s what she wanted to hear. At this point, it was clear the young Hale didn’t know Stiles was hurt or supposed to be dead. She was either ordered to come here to shake up Malia and indirectly Stiles, or came on her own volition.

Cora smirked, and Malia breathed an inner sigh of relief, however momentary. “Really?” 

For a second, she wondered if this girl might just be one of those gossipy types. That thought was banished from her mind, at her next words. “I’d be wary if I was you. He’ll use you and then throw you away first chance he gets. Probably when another pretty little thing looks his way.  That one’s all shady business; makes you wonder how many people he has killed.”

Malia said nothing, her heart thudding in her chest. It was so weird hearing Cora say words she had been wondering since Stiles attacked her.

It was like the brunette knew she had affected Malia somehow. 

“Think about it. The Righthand always has the filthiest hands, using anything and everything to get information. Don’t let the pretty boy look fool you. As soon as you become a liability, you’re done. You’ve probably kept your involvement with him a secret, so if he cleans up your disappearance, no one will link you to him, because you haven’t let anyone know.” Cora took out a piece of paper, and slid it across the glass towards her. “I can help you, if you want,” she smiled and sauntered out, door swinging shut behind her.  

Malia let out the breath she was holding. She picked up the piece of paper with shaky hands. She knew deep down, the girl was toying with her. She wanted Malia to start doubting Stiles, his intentions—why he was suddenly being so nice. It almost worked, but the other part of her reasoned how Stiles had had so many opportunities to ‘drop her’. He could have ignored her wishes and done his own thing, but he hadn’t. She doubted that after everything, he would now.

The crumpled piece of paper made a satisfying thunk at the bottom of the garbage can.    
—  
Malia’s journey home was a series of running slowed to a walk, to a run again, her eyes skirted around the place, all of her senses on alert. Even the bus ride wasn’t enough to slow down the thudding of her heart, the grip on her phone less. She kept to the shadows whenever they appeared, sidling close to walls, and stopped often, so she heard something other than panting breaths.  

After having two members of the Hale gang visit her while at work since she had saved Stiles, Malia was completely justified to her wariness of her surroundings.

It was no wonder then when she ran in, locking the door behind her that she practically jumped out of her skin, when Stiles made a dry comment at her behaviour as he sat bent over his history textbook that he finally found. Malia leaned against the door, breathing heavily after realizing it was only Stiles and not someone that broke into her place. 

Stiles put his textbook beside him slowly, observing her. Her hair was disheveled, like she had run her fingers through it multiple times. Her ponytail was barely holding her hair together, and it looked like she had forgotten one of the bulky sweaters she usually wore for the cold.

Malia didn’t say anything, didn’t make eye contact, just crossed the space to her room, and collapsed on the bed. Stiles frowned, eyes following her until she was out of sight. He had a couple guesses for her jumpy behaviour: none of them good.

“Fuck.” Stiles bit his lip, hands clasped in front of him. Did someone know? Did they see Malia helping him? He knew as soon as he accepted her help, that he was putting her in danger. He should have thought this out more. Prepared her even. 

Feeling restless, Stiles got up to make some food. They had been living off a lot of soup lately, so he hunted around for something—anything else.  As he stirred the pasta, he thought up what to do. He wasn’t good at the talking shit. Lydia had once referring to him as emotionally constipated, and he hadn’t argued it off because it was true. No, talking was not his forte, but he knew what was. 

Malia came out of her room half an hour later and plated herself, sitting opposite Stiles. They ate quietly, occasionally glancing at the other. Finally Malia broke the silence.

“You’re not going to ask me?” Stiles shook his head, digging his fork into the noodles. “That girl with Derek from the other day came to see me.” Stiles looked up, swallowed his morsel, and placed his plate on the coffee table, appetite fading quickly. “At my work.” Malia continued, viciously stabbing at her food. “Brought her gun.” 

She looked up to meet Stiles’ level gaze. There wasn’t even a hint of sympathy in them, but not cold indifference either, the latter providing a little bit of comfort. Still, she expected something more from the guy who was the reason she was so anxious now.  

“I’m fine by the way. Thanks for asking.” 

Stiles closed his eyes briefly, before going to the kitchen, rummaging around her drawers until he found what he was looking for. Walking back into the room, he said, “You’re far from fine, and rightfully so. Cora Hale threatened your life.”

Malia only looked up when he stopped right in front of her, staring in confusion as Stiles held the object out for her to take, “It’s a wooden spoon.”

“I am well aware.” There was no humorous tone accompanying the comment. “I’m going to teach you to fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo lovelies!I'm baaack! lol So we have entered double digit chapters. This is Very new to me!! Moving on, this chapter was very little Stalia oriented, but I’ve maintained in my mind, that this story is more than about two characters. With the Kira’s sibling thing, I had to move away from canon because explaining why a highschool kid has been running a gang, while the Hales still have Derek as a leader, is a difficult thing :p 
> 
> Sidenote: Kira was supposed to take over, but she didn’t want it, opting to suggest Scott instead. Hope you enjoyed the read!!
> 
> I’ll be back sooner than before hopefully with the new chapter! Much love


	11. We Stay Untouched

_Malia only looked up when he stopped right in front of her, staring in confusion as Stiles held the object out for her to take, “It’s a wooden spoon.”_

_“I am well aware.” There was no humorous tone accompanying the comment. “I’m going to teach you to fight.”_

—

“What? No, you can’t…What if I hurt you?” Malia protested, worried.

Stiles raised both his eyebrows slowly in what could only be described as an amused expression as he gestured for her to get up. With a huff she did so if not, a little reluctantly.  
  
“Show me your response if someone was to attack you right now.” Stiles said, holding out the spoon again.  
  
“Are you—“ Malia couldn’t even finish the sentence. She couldn’t believe Stiles was asking her _this_ of all things. After the shit day she just came back from.

Stiles waited, expression unchanged until she grudgingly took the held out object from him. Feeling silly, she swung it around playfully. Stiles looked at her, unimpressed. Malia could literally hear his inner dialogue telling her to be serious.  
  
Malia sighed. She had a feeling he wouldn’t stop until she went along with whatever this was supposed to be. Shaking her shoulders loosening them, Malia gripped the spoon and waited.  
  
Nothing happened for a couple seconds, and then Stiles lunged. Instinctively, Malia flinched back, dropping the spoon and cowered, hands held above her head.

“Wrong.”

Malia felt a rap on her head and looked up at Stiles sheepishly. Oh yeah. She was supposed to fight him.

Stiles stepped away from her twirling the spoon in his hands idly, “Rule number one. Always look for a way out. Running away is the better response; it’s not cowardly, it’s smart. Fighting is second. Even if you know how to defend yourself against the type of weapon the attacker has, try not to confront them. “Got it?”

Malia nodded. She had always been fast, and had tons of practice running away when caught shoplifting, so escaping an attacker shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Stiles circled her, still playing with the spoon, “In an event running isn’t an option, you have to fight. And that’s what you’re going to learn today.”

“Okay…?” Malia mumbled. “I suppose what I want to do now, is not an option on the table?” Stiles ignored her. “That’s a no then.”  
  
“I’m going to charge at you again,” Stiles handed her their temporary weapon, “Think about your response.” Stiles took a couple more steps away from her, leaving a good amount of space between them.

Malia looked down at the spoon and back at him, “Okay, I’m really having a tough time taking you seriously if what you’re giving me is a freaking sp—“

Stiles didn’t give her a chance to finish, attacking from the front again. Alarmed, Malia swung the spoon, aiming for Stiles’ face. He dodged it easily, disarming her of her weapon before trapping her hand behind her back, resting the spoon handle to her throat.

Malia’s heart hammered in her chest from the sudden surge of action. It had happened so fast, she barely had time to process how Stiles went from facing her, to behind. Even more scary, was how effortless it was to make her immobile. Stiles must have known it would scare her and doing this today was just mean.

“You have to be alert at all times.” Stiles’ tone continued in the same manner—informative but detached, or as Malia liked to think, asshole-ish.  “Sometimes it’s on you to get them to back off. Can’t always be on defense.”

“Just remember, in these parts, they won’t hesitate to kill you if you don’t act. Still…you did good.”

As Malia started to slowly calm down, the second part of the sentence registered. Despite the brush of hot breath against her cheek, and how warm his back felt against her, her confusion was enough to distract her from his closeness.

“How’s that good?” She turned her head to the side, since that’s all she could do, hand still twisted behind her back, “You caught me.”

“Yes,” Stiles agreed, loosening his hold on her wrist but staying behind her, “but you acted outward this time. It’s what we want.”

“You mean it’s what you want. _I_ want to go to bed.” Malia snarked.

Stiles lowered the spoon from her throat, stepping back, “Malia…”

Malia knew this was Stiles’ way of helping her. She may not like it, but acting like a petulant child didn’t seem to be working for anyone, and if she kept producing results, that was good right?

“Fine. But why the fuck are we playing with a spoon?”

Stiles hid a smirk at how easily the you turned into a ‘we’. “Pretend it’s a knife.” Malia spun around alarmed. Without skipping a beat, Stiles continued.

“I noticed how you were holding the handle. The proper way is to grip it diagonally across your palm.” Warm hands covered her own rigid ones and placed the wooden handle as he described, folding her fingers around it, positioning the thumb properly. “Firm grip. Don’t squeeze.”

“Wait..I—why am I learning about knife fighting?”

“If you know how to wield the weapon, you would be familiar with how to use and to deflect it.” Stiles answered patiently.

“And what if they have guns?”

“Only gang members have guns.” Stiles avoided looking at her in the eye, as he moved her elbows up and turned her left wrist inward. “If they’re threatening you with a gun, it’ll be for leverage.”

All of a sudden Stiles stood a little too close, putting one hand on her right shoulder, but all he did was push it back while the other hand held her hip steady. Even if his focus was one hundred percent impersonal, it didn’t matter because he was severely invading her bubble space, and holding her.

“For what?” she asked to distract herself from his close proximity.

“You mean against _whom_.”

“Yeah?” He looked in the eye then, and it hit her. Stiles. She would be used as leverage against _Stiles_. She didn’t know how she felt about that.

“Any more questions?” The question was said quietly. Malia shook her head mutely.

“Now, your stance.” Stiles continued on with the lesson, as though he hadn’t just dropped a huge bomb of a confession. “One foot..No, your right foot back. Keep your elbows..no not that high.” Stiles frowned while looking her over critically, tapping her leg whenever she broke the stance out of nervousness. He seemed unaware of the amount of touching he was doing, and even if it wasn’t sexual, it was a bit of an overload.

“Good.” He said stepping back, when she stayed as instructed. “Remember that position. Next, we learn how to use the knife.”

“Always keep your feet and hands moving. Cut where ever you can. Move and cut, move and cut.”

Stiles watched her do this for a while, nodding. She was going through the motions properly, despite the dubious look on her face. “You’re doing great,” he said, meaning it. Malia must have been able to tell he was being genuine about it too, because the next second her face lit up with a wide smile, making Stiles’ heart skip a beat.

Trying to focus in on her again, he noticed something and stopped her suddenly, grabbing her chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting her head down. Malia looked up questioningly at him, a faint blush on her cheeks, and Stiles had to remind himself to let go and step back, realizing how intimate this looked.

“You have to…protect your neck.” His explanation came a bit delayed, due to his own awkwardness. “One of the quickest places a person can bleed is the throat. Protect it.”

Shit. Why did he have to be attracted to her? This was going to be _hell_.  
—  
Five minutes later and nothing had improved. “This is hard. Could you _try_ going easy on me!” Malia growled, blowing off a strand of hair that had settled on her face after their last bout.

Stiles blinked surprised, “I _am_ going easy on you.”

Her jaw dropped. This was his idea of easy? “Are you fucking serious!!” She threw the spoon at him and he had to duck to avoid it, before picking it up, undeterred by her anger.

“If you focus, maybe you’ll actually get a point on me.” Stiles flipped the spoon in the air before holding it out for her. “Again.”

“No.” Malia shook her head, chest still heaving. “Not until—Not when you’re not playing fair. You tell me to attack, but in the style you’re teaching me, so..so you already know exactly where I’ll go to hit. I have no chance of winning!”

Stiles stood straight from his fighting stance. She was right in part. He had thrown her to fight blindly. Teaching posture and knife strikes weren’t going to be enough. She had to understand strategy as well. An unprepared fighter, was a dead fighter.

It might be good to stop for the night too. Malia had mostly been an uncoordinated mess, not even getting close enough to harm him, so he didn’t have to worry whether practicing would hurt his healing body. Still, his muscles were sore from the lack of exercise, and they had already begun complaining a little while ago.

Stiles rubbed his neck thinking how Scott’s infinite well of patience would have been a nice trait to have. It was a challenge teaching Malia without wanting to bite her head off. There had been more than once where he’d wanted to throw her into the couch in frustration or smack her upside the head, when she made stupid, necessary little comments.

He also had to constantly remind himself he liked the girl—maybe a little too much—and that training her was his idea.

“We’ll stop for now.” Stiles threw their practice weapon on the couch and walked to the fridge to get them some water. He could see Malia from the corner of his eye standing in the same position, looking annoyed.

“I’m right aren’t I? Just admit it! It won’t hurt I promise,” she called out.

Stiles suppressed an eye roll, knowing she was still watching him. Malia was the most effective fighter when she was mad at him, which happened pretty often so far. What she had yet to learn was if she took that aggression, and molded it to her advantage when she was clear minded, it would help a lot in a fight.

“Learning to fight is like learning to paint. You can be taught the exact same way as someone else, and the end result would still be different.” He grabbed two water bottles and bringing them to the table, opened one holding it out to Malia. When she refused to take it, he set hers down on the table and took a big gulp from his own.

“A lot of things factor in when fighting an opponent—their height, weight. Another is observing surroundings and what it has to offer, coupled with your strengths and weaknesses and how best to work all those to your advantage. It’s how using same techniques in fighting, still end up with different results.”

“How?” Malia asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

Stiles looked a bit confused at first, but seemed to figure out what she meant. “Our difference in height for instance. The style in which you approach an opponent taller than you, would be different to how I would use it to my advantage. That’s where creativity comes in.”

“So you weren’t just being a hard ass?”

Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered in annoyance, “I’m not doing this for my amusement, Malia.”

“I know..I know..” Malia sighed. “I’m just tired okay? I’ve had a rough day and I’m not really opposed to sleeping upright, right now.”

Stiles regarded her quietly, before nodding. “We’ll resume this tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? You mean there’s more of this?”

“Until I feel you’ve absorbed the lessons, yes.”

Malia shoulders drooping, shoved past him, too tired to argue. Stiles watched her go, then moved the sparse furniture around to make some decent room, before depositing himself onto the couch. It was going to be an interesting couple of days.    
—  
Lunch time came around and Stiles wasn’t there…again apparently. Kira had come over to Scott’s last night, one, to ask about where him and Isaac had disappeared off to during lunch and second, inform him Stiles had been absent too. 

Originally Scott had chalked it up to Stiles avoiding gang hangouts because of him, but it was unusual that his Second hadn’t texted anyone else; not since last week. This lack of communication was getting him more and more concerned. He had tried to call Stiles already but one ring in, and it went into answering; that was unusual—Stiles phone was never off.

His mind went back to the conversation he had with his mom. He had mulled over it quite a lot these past days, and he had to admit she was right. If Stiles had been straight up about his involvement with the girl, Scott would have forbade it. Going against his word had ramifications too.

What better way to avoid all that than to lie? There had to be something else though… Even if was loneliness that made Stiles act this way, he of all people, wasn’t careless.

“Scott..SCOTT!”

Scott jerked out of his thoughts and stared at the girls who were looking at him.

“Where did we lose you?” Kira frowned at him.

“I was just thinking about that upcoming Biology test. Mr Groves said it was going to be a hard one.” Scott answered quickly. The girls looked at each other, but accepted the answer all the same. “What’s up?”

“Stiles wasn’t in English class with Lydia today,” Kira bit her lip, a worried look crossing her face.

“I figured,” Scott shook his head before looking at all of them. There was definitely a state of restlessness with everyone except Liam, but that was to be expected—Liam didn’t know Stiles like they did. It’s like they all sensed something was wrong, something was off but didn’t want to get too excited about it, if it turned out to be nothing.

“I called him,” Scott admitted quietly.

“Do you want me to text him?” Lydia asked, absently sketching on the corners of her notebook cover. It was a thing she did when something was bothering her. Stiles’ odd behaviour really had her worried if the dark lines she kept going over and over again until there was a dent in the cover, were anything to go by.

Lydia looked up when Scott covered his hand over hers, stopping it. She sighed, shoulders drooping and nodded to him, getting the message.

“Do you think it has anything to do with—“ Kira stopped herself, unable to say the words out loud. That’s the thing they dreaded the most—that this was a gang related thing. What happened with Allison was still fresh in everyone’s minds, like it had happened yesterday.

“He could just be sick.” Liam had joined their conversation. None of them had even noticed him approaching.

“Let’s hope that’s all it is.”  
—  
Scott was in the parking lot after school, when he caught sight of Liam with his two only friends. The Beacon Wolves leader knew Liam was having a hard time explaining to his friends why he was absent during lunch sometimes. Having to yet be an official member, there was no visual indication that he was a candidate for the local gang. Even if people did see him hanging out with Scott by the picnic tables, he wasn’t popular amongst the sophomores so it wasn’t like there would be hordes questioning his recent choice in company.

Most people avoided associating with the BW anyways. Stiles’ ‘girlfriend’ must be the exception. Either she hadn’t got the memo—Scott highly doubted it, or she was simply stupid. There was _nothing_ about Stiles’ demeanour that suggested he was an approachable, pleasant guy to talk to. It took a very special person to see Stiles smile even. Scott was fortunate in being one of them.

With one last look towards the three sophomores, Scott snapped the buckle of his helmet and kicked the gear to start up his bike, taking the road that led to Stiles’ apartment complex. Getting there, he parked down the street and looked for the space Stiles usually parked his. An uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, when Scott spied his Second’s bike.  

“Okay, that doesn’t have to mean anything,” Scott muttered to himself, but checked the tires anyways. He walked up to the building, not really concerned about being spotted, having left his jacket at school just in case. Taking two stairs at a time, Scott made his way up four flights of stairs, and stopped at door number four, eyeing the doorframe: No forced entry. So far, everything looked okay.

Taking a deep calming breath, Scott banged on the door and waited, ear listening carefully for sounds of movement from the inside. Nothing. He took out his cell and dialed Stiles’ number again, only to get sent straight to voicemail again. That left him with one last option.    
—  
Scott walked into the darkened room and felt around for the switch. Light flooded the place a second later, revealing the mess that Stiles called home. He put his lanyard down on the table by the closed door, and made his way through the apartment, careful not to move anything. The first place he checked was the fridge, which was completely empty. There wasn’t a single item of food in there. He looked around the main room but other than the usual mess, there were no signs of a break in. That meant had Stiles been attacked or taken, it happened outside of his house. 

This had Hale all over it, there was no denying that. First Allison and now Stiles; he didn’t believe in coincidences. It was odd that the rival gang wasn’t claiming ownership the way they had with Allison, but she had been a clear message. You take one of ours, and there will be hell to pay. Stiles had never had a previous affiliation with Hale Fire, so he must have found out some information that was secret enough to make them feel threatened. With all the secrets being kept within the group, their guard had been down. Just enough, to infiltrate it.

“Fuck!” Scott wanted to punch something, hot anger filling him. He was mad about a fucking girl coming between him and his Right Hand. He was mad that they had gotten complacent about the rival gang. That Hale had come into his territory and taken someone important from him. Again. No one messed with Scott’s gang—his family. 

If Derek thought he could walk all over the Beacon Wolves, he had another thing coming. And this time, they’d better bet no one would come out unscathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Lovelies!! Loong loong time no story!! I Sorry about the wait. My sister got married this October and we were busy making preparations for the big day, so writing took a backseat. But I'm back now so YAY! 
> 
> This was supposed to be one huge chapter which is why it was taking me extra long to update, but I decided to break it up for a better read. A breather if you will. Things look like they are definitely heating up this chapter—and I’m not just talking about Stiles’ unfortunate attraction to a certain brunette ;) p.s-who likes teacher!Stiles?


	12. You Could have it All

“You’re standing incorrectly again.” Stiles stated, voice creeping back into impatient territory. “If you stand the way I showed you before, you should be able to twist away from me and redirect you attack.” He demonstrated the movement pattern as he explained. “Don’t try—”  
  
Malia glared at him through strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail as she braced her hands on her thighs. She hadn’t heard a word Stiles had said. Two days, two hours each and she was fed up. No matter how hard she tried, Stiles was always there blocking her, whether with weapon fights or hand to hand combat, it didn’t matter.  
  
To be honest, it wasn’t just the lessons. It was the homework she had forgotten to do, the test she had bombed today, while being caught up with everything over the weekend. And it wasn’t like the paranoia of being watched had faded away. That’s why Stiles and her did this weird and painful dance around each other, right?  
  
“—in your mind. Now, come at me.”  
  
Malia slid back to the present, just in time to hear the last three words. Words spoken right before she demonstrated any attempt at being a fighter, before she failed yet again. Words reminding her that this hell was going to continue for as long as Stiles wished it, and she wanted it all to stop.  
  
She raised her eyes directing her glare at Stiles, who for some god known reason looked like he’d come back from a stroll in a park, not trained with her since five o’clock. Everything about him was starting to irk her: his perfect hair, his nonchalant stance, and he..did he look bored?  
  
Seeing this only added to her slowly crumbling self control and she did come at him, just not the way he had meant, but a flurry of uncoordinated fists directed at his chest.  
—  
Stiles was taken aback by the attack, but not surprised. He had expected this. Malia for the past few days, had been too tightly wound up, it was a wonder it took this long for her to snap. He stood with his arms down his sides, and let her angrily pound his chest for a few moments before clasping her wrists, holding her at an arms distance.  
  
Malia tried swiping at him as she struggled to free herself from his grip, and he watched her face changing from anger to frustration to desperation and finally, to defeat as her entire body went limp. Stiles alarmed, stepped forward then to catch her, but Malia was already getting her footing back, pushing him away.  
  
“No..” Malia said, her voice faint, “I—I can’t. I’m done! Wi—with this..with you!” She panted, leaning against the back of whatever furniture was behind her. “Why do I…? Why am I even…” her eyes wandered the floor, like she hoped she’d find the words there, to complete her sentences.  
  
When her eyes did find Stiles, they shone with unshed tears, “This is all your fault! You did this. I was fine! I was ready to—“ she sniffed, blinking furiously, but wasn’t done, her fingers balled into fists, like she was ready to charge at him again, “A fresh start! I was promised a fresh start! Like I haven’t gone through enough shit already and then you—you had to just destroy any chance of normal didn’t you? You’re like..like a..a parasite. Just because your life sucks, you have to make it bad for everyone else. I hate you!”  
Stiles observed the girl breathing hard in front of him, knowing precisely where he had erred. It might have been wiser to have a sit down and explain why they were training in the beginning, but it wasn’t something they could change now. Besides, he thought she would get how important this was, not treat it as a joke.  
  
“Okay.” He said it loud enough for her to hear.  
  
“Okay what?” Malia snapped.  
  
“Okay. We’re done.” Stiles started straightening the room. They may have gotten a little messy during their tussle.  
  
“You’re serious? Malia asked, eyes tracking Stiles’ movements. “No more ridiculous spoon fighting?”  
  
“Yes.” Stiles went to the growing pile that was his homework, which he’d been putting off in favour of teaching Malia. When she was in school, he had gone upstairs to grab his books along with everyday necessities. He might have also gone down for a smoke, but she didn’t need to know that.  
  
Knowing the more he put it off, the quicker the pile would grow, Stiles turned his back to the hesitant figure, and settled down with his math homework. He liked math. There was always a definitive solution to problems—unlike his life currently.  
—  
Malia’s good mood lasted two hours. The third she spent staring at the ceiling, thinking back to everything she’d said during their one-sided fight. She didn’t feel bad exactly, but it didn’t feel good either. As the fourth hour dragged on, she went to get some food and discovered a catch to her freedom. There always seemed to be a catch when it came to Stiles.  
  
Apparently, them being ‘done’ meant not simply a stop to the lessons, but everything. She was back to the quiet boy back at the Nemeton, but worse—Stiles had no obligation to talk to her this time.  
  
“I didn’t mean this…” Malia thought to herself as she curled up in the chair across from Stiles, who was leaning against an arm of the couch, long legs sprawled in front of him. Figuring she could also get some homework done she had brought it to the living room with her, but her eyes kept drifting back to Stiles.  
  
“Why is this so important to you?” she asked finally.  
  
Stiles, who had moved on to his english assignment, paused in rereading a paragraph of a short story to which he needed answers for. He thought about the words—explanations he should have given long before this moment. He had to be very careful about what he said now, if he wanted Malia’s co-operation for the next couple days.  
  
“I don’t think you fully understand how serious this is,” he said, still turned away from her. “The neighbours, they don’t give a fuck. You wave some green under their noses and they’ll spill every secret there is, just to get more.  
“If someone saw you, and the wrong person inquired, it wouldn’t matter if you’ve never done anything bad in your life—you’re with me and that makes you guilty.”  
  
A quick side glance showed the alarm on Malia’s face. Good. She was finally getting it.  
  
“People don’t help gang members because of that very fact. You’ve put a target on your back. You get jumped and I’m not around, then what?”  
  
Stiles moved then putting both feet down on the floor, so he now faced her.  
  
Malia was taken aback by the intensity in his eyes. She didn’t know why it still came as a shock that Stiles was so protective of her. Surely this wasn’t just guilt talking.  
  
She swallowed, feeling small, feeling scared as the words sank in. It must’ve shown on her face, because Stiles’ expression lost some of it’s hard edges.  
  
“You were right. This is all my fault. But I’m working to fix it the best I can.” His gaze held hers, as he said, “Let me help you, protect you.”  
  
Malia stared into those unblinking amber eyes and whispered, “Okay.”  
—  
“Stop.” Malia panted, practically falling towards the couch. “I need to rest.”  
  
“You can do a little more.” Stiles said, looking around at the cramped space they had made to practice. Malia’s studio apartment wasn’t the ideal place to teach someone how to fight. They might have to move this to his flat.  
  
“Excuse me?” Malia rounded on him, “I get to decide if I can do more!”  
  
Stiles shot her a look, “You just took a break. You don’t need another one!”  
  
“Oh so now you’re more in tune with my body than I am? Did you think maybe the last break wasn’t enough?”  
  
“Are you fucking with me right now?!” Stiles dropped the butter knife they had moved up to on the table, letting it clatter loudly. He couldn’t help the rise in his voice as he said, “Just tell me, are you really—“  
  
“Oh wow. Bad timing?”  
  
Malia and Stiles both turned towards the door, finding Danny standing hesitantly at the entrance, Malia’s extra keys in his hand.  
  
Malia shot a glare at Stiles, “We were fighting.”  
  
Stiles looked from Malia to Danny, “Training.” he corrected, irritated.  
  
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Danny raised his eyebrows mischievously. Both Malia and Stiles ignored him, still furious at the other for not understanding their side.  
  
“I’m going for a shower,” Malia announced to no one in particular before slamming the bathroom door shut.  
  
“You know you can skip the foreplay, and just kiss her right?” Danny said.  
  
Stiles didn’t hear him, ear fully trained on waiting for the shower to turn on. The second the sound of water hitting the tub could be heard, Stiles grabbed Danny and forcefully pinned him to the nearest wall, arm pressed against his throat, choking him.  
  
“Stiles wha—“ Danny’s eyes widened as the pressure increased.  
  
“Don’t playing dumb,” Stiles hissed, “You know what this is about.”  
  
Stiles stared at Danny steadily, until red in the face with lack of oxygen, Danny nodded frantically, ready to talk. Stiles eased the pressure enough to let him breath, but not enough to free him.  
  
“My backpack. It’s—”  
  
Stiles let Danny go roughly, making him stumble forward. Ruffling through bag, Stiles found his phone and turned it on, throwing the bag aside. There was a message from Caitlin, and two calls from Scott. Two. Scott never had to call twice. If he was the one to reach out first after their fight and Stiles hadn’t answered, he had to know something was wrong.  
  
“Get out.”  
  
Danny swallowed but didn’t move. He knew Stiles wouldn’t hurt him; he needed him—or so he hoped. “I’m not your enemy, Stiles.”  
  
Stiles standing with his hands leaning against the table, didn’t turn to him.  
  
“I di—didn’t want to take a chance. Not until I could find something solid.” More silence followed, making him antsy. Maybe he should just leave. But he couldn’t. Not like this.  
  
“Look man, I don’t know your friends, but..keeping you safe was more important to me, than offending you. Now if you want to give me crap for it go ahead, but I did what I felt was right.”  
  
Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was usually careful with his decisions. It was an occupational hazard, what with being Scott’s second. These past recent events had him act irrationally, which was not something he was known for.  
  
He knew alienating Danny was not an option, He also knew he wouldn’t try to cross him again.  Danny was stealthy, but a bad liar. He also had to admit what Danny said about being cautious made sense, so he couldn’t fault his contact’ actions.  
  
Stiles gave the slightest of nods in his direction, and could sense the tension bleeding off Danny. Wordlessly, he looked towards the bathroom door—the other problem of the day.  
  
Danny followed Stiles gaze and it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was still pissed at Malia. He didn’t know if his presence was still welcome, but it didn’t stop him from suggesting lightly, “Why don’t you try going easy on her?”  
  
Stiles turned to face him, a deep scowl on his face, “If I go any easier, we’ll be slow dancing.”  
  
“Then slow dance.”  
—  
“What is it we are doing?” Malia asked. They were up in Stiles’ flat after Malia had almost fallen into the glass top of her table. After criticizing the state of his apartment, they pushed all his furniture to the sides to make room for practice.  
  
“Slow dancing apparently,” Stiles muttered. At her puzzlement he shook his head, wordlessly telling her to ignore the comment.    
  
“Maybe we moved too quickly. We’re going to go through the steps one by one, and—“  
  
“Okay that’s so not necessary!” Malia protested. Where was all this being careful coming from? It didn’t sound like Stiles at all.  
  
“It isn’t?” Stiles’ eyebrows shot up. “I don’t see improvement. What am I supposed to think?”  
  
For a long time, school had been hard for Malia. People were quick to assume she was dumb or uninterested or lazy, but it took a while to figure out she had a learning disability. She had found ways to cope with this sort of thing, but once in a while—like Stiles’ fighting lessons—the challenge to manage was back. Plus she was attracted to him, but that was another can of worms she didn’t want to deal with.  
  
“I’m—it takes me longer to grasp these things. I’m not slow, I’m—“  
  
“One question.” Stiles interrupted, “Do you want to learn?”  
  
“Yes!” Malia said earnestly. “I know it doesn’t seem that way, but I’m getting the hang of it, I promise.”  
  
Stiles eyed Malia a little longer like he was looking for something. “Okay.” He saw Malia letting out a visible sigh of relief. “Remember the rules?” Malia took a deep breath and nodded, settling in her stance. He did the same.  
—  
Although anticipating the first hit, Malia wasn’t ready for his speed and Stiles caught the side of her left cheek. She winced backing away.  
  
“Don’t prolong it.” Stiles reminded quietly, “Focus, and remember—“  
  
“—to get creative.” Malia finished, something shifting in her eyes. A calm settled over her, something that made Stiles feel like this time, it would be different. He was right. After repeating steps and movements for the past couple days, she had finally figured out when to use what.  
  
  
Stiles attacked from the right and easily disarmed her again, but this time she was ready. Malia didn’t hesitate before she went to knee his crotch. Stiles blocked her attack and circling her, gave her a few seconds to catch her breath then grabbed her from the back. Just as before, Malia’s reaction was instantaneous—she stamped on Stiles foot hard, turning sharply to her left, elbowing his side and dug her nails into the tender underside of his wrist.  
  
Stiles let go of her quickly shoving her away from him. Malia looked around the room hunting for something to use as a weapon. Spying something shiny on the table, she grabbed it and looked quickly for a place she could target but with Stiles fast approaching, she panicked and slashed at random.  
  
Stiles winced as the blunt blade of the dinner knife slid over one of his bruises. Malia in full fight mode, used it to her advantage. That small moment of distraction allowed Malia to grab his head by his hair and bring it down on her knee. The impact was jarring enough to make Stiles stumble back and fall.  
  
Malia was undecided with her next move: make a ‘run for it’ or stamp on his dominant hand, but she took too long and didn’t act in time and by then Stiles recovered enough to swipe a leg under her, making her crash on the floor beside him.  
  
Stiles was on top of her in a flash, holding her discarded weapon to her throat. “Dead.”  
—  
They stayed in that position a little while longer catching their breath, until it began to feel weird.  
  
Stiles rolled off her and sat with his legs crossed in front of him, arms resting on his knees, “You did well.” Malia groaned as she sat up, rubbing her sore backside. “Very well,” he praised.  
  
She went to glare at Stiles but found him giving her a small, proud smile. Floored by that expression, Malia didn’t say anything at first. Stiles genuinely smiling, was a new concept for her. She didn’t think he was aware he was doing it or she was sure, he would have stopped by now.  
  
“Well?! You beat me. Again. For the hundredth time!”  
  
Scratching the back of his head Stiles said, “That’s because you hesitated. Not because I was better.”  
  
“How do you think I would do opposite fully healed Stiles?”  
  
Stiles pursed his lips, wondering how honest to be, “We’ll have to see then,” he evaded in what he hoped was an artful manner as he stood up, not wanting to shoot Malia’s confidence down. Sometimes it was all about attitude. If Malia believed she was strong, she would have a better chance of action when faced with an opponent instead of freezing with self doubt.  
  
“What happened?” Stiles asked, held out a hand to help Malia up.  
  
Malia sighed accepting his hand, and stood beside him “I couldn’t decide between two actions.” Seeing Stiles’ raised eyebrows, she made a face, “Yeah, yeah I know. When in doubt, run. But see..wouldn’t that just mean my opponent would recover like you did and come after me?”  
  
“Sure,” Stiles shrugged, looking around the room. It was a mess but a mess that didn’t end in a stubbed toe, or a twisted ankle—which was a huge improvement. Still, it was probably a good thing he was off school, or this would have been a nightmare to navigate through. He really needed a bookshelf… “But you know how to beat them when they grab you from the back. It’s a lot harder to escape from under an opponent, especially when they’re bigger than you.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Hearing the quiet tone in her voice, Stiles turned to look at her. “You’ll do fine.”  
  
“And if I freeze? Or forget whatever I learned?”  
  
“You won’t.” Malia opened her mouth to make a sarcastic comment, but it was interrupted by a sudden movement when Stiles shot a hand out to her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her smack into his chest.  
  
Despite her initial shock, Malia twisted her arm out of his hold, before punching him in the stomach. Stiles backed away looking pleased with himself as Malia stood surprised at her reaction. “Your mind may think it forgot, but your body remembers.”  
  
Malia was baffled. How could he have known how quickly she would learn? “Speaking of which, did I hurt you while we were training? I saw you wince.”  
  
Stiles shrugged dismissively, “It’s probably nothing.”  
  
Malia bit her lip, unsure. Stiles had been exerting his body a lot with helping her train and she didn’t want to take a chance with delaying a healing. So when he turned to go, she grabbed his arm and pointed to the bed.  
  
“Sit.”  
  
Stiles made his way over to the bed, and leaned up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him, watching Malia walk this way and that, looking for something. Spending enough time with someone, there were bound to be things picked up about their behaviour. Like now with Malia.. her ‘boss face’ was back, which meant it would be easier to let her do whatever she had in mind, instead of reason with her.  
  
“Take off your shirt,” Malia said, as she walked over and sat beside Stiles on the bed, one foot tucked under her.  
  
Stiles glanced at the little basket of things Malia had brought with her. “All this was in my house?”  
  
Malia rolled her eyes, “Of course not. Will you just take off your shirt?” When she saw Stiles hesitating, she added uncertainly, “Unless you were waiting for me to do it..?”  
  
Stiles shook his head, but didn’t move immediately. It had been a couple days since Malia had seen him shirtless. He had never been comfortable with the idea of people seeing the scars he carried on him. He wasn’t some soldier and they weren’t badges of honour—they were a daily reminder of what separated Stiles from everyone else.  
  
Some of them had happened before his gang days but most hadn’t, and Scott didn’t know about them. These facts didn’t bother him because it was all part of the role he played. The evidence from his ’encounters’ had become easier to hide, but it seemed like he didn’t have much of a choice today.  
  
With some reluctance, Stiles reached the back of his collar and pulled the shirt over his head, throwing it aside.  
  
“Oh..my God…” Malia trailed off, eyes glued to his chest. Stiles tried not to hunch his shoulders in self-consciousness. Looking down at himself, he noticed the recent bruises—the bigger ones—were still at the purple greenish stage, but others were yellow and the smaller ones almost completely faded. He had always been quick to heal; something about good metabolism.  
  
His thought was interrupted when he felt the lightest of touches across his bare chest. Malia wasn’t looking at the bruises, her gaze fixed on his multiple scars. Her expression shifted from shock to wonder, as she began feeling along the line of a long healed scar right below Stiles’ collarbone, with her fingers.  
  
This led to her hand trailing down, finding more on his chest—usually bigger ones caused by sharp blades. Stiles closed his eyes at the feeling, in two minds of how to react. Part of his wanted to lean into the touch, a part of him recoiled at the knowledge of her touching such marred skin.  
  
“Malia…” voice hoarse, Stiles called her attention to stop what she was doing.  
  
“Ah..uh…” Malia flushed with embarrassment, busying her hands with the supplies. “Let’s get this off you…” she glanced quickly at Stiles’ face, then peeled the old wrapping carefully. Stiles when doing it himself, had used a lot of tape. Once off, she leaned back to take a look.  
  
“Okay good. No swelling or signs of infection. You have been functioning like a regular human being, so clearly no internal wounds,” she chuckled nervously, tucking her hair behind an ear, as she folded both legs under her, so she was sitting on them. “I-It’s um..healed nicely. Maybe bandage it tonight and air it tomorrow?”  
  
Despite not hearing confirmation from Stiles, Malia began the process of applying the ointment and covering it with the medical tape.  
—  
Relieved to no long be feeling like someone teasing him with a feather, Stiles observed the state Malia got in when she was flustered. It began with rambling about things to quick to catch and fumbling with things a lot more than usual.  
  
The more he observed her though the more it seemed like she was prolonging something that should take half the time it was currently taking. She was also avoiding looking at him. Maybe this was making her uncomfortable.  
  
“I can take over from here,” Stiles said gently. He moved to sit opposite her, rather than laying perpendicular like before. This put him in an equal eye level as Malia.  
  
“It’s..fine. Just,” another quick glance up, “don’t move.” Malia cut a long rectangular piece of the gauze and folded it up twice and applied a dollop of antiseptic cream, before grabbing the medical tape and between holding it between her lips, and pressing the gauze to where she wanted it to sit on Stiles’ torso, Malia was able to create a crude bandage. She sat back on her heels with a sigh, letting the tape fall from her mouth, onto the bed.  
  
“Couldn’t have just bought some bandaids?” Stiles ventured after a long silence.  
  
Malia paused in rubbing her face, and looked at Stiles between her fingers. Couldn’t she have…Then it struck her what he was talking about and she burst out laughing. “I was in a panic okay? I’d just run a couple blocks after finding your unconscious ass—not knowing if you’d survive or not—broke into a pharmacy and took some supplies. I think I did pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”  
  
Stiles grinned, nodding at her question. Then the other things she said, filtered through. “Wait. You broke into a pharmacy?”  
  
“I paid for the stuff,” Malia said defensively.  
  
“That’s—wow—but that’s not why I’m..” Stiles pinched his lip with his fingers, thinking. All this sleuthing was what Stiles did and with his absence…It had already been a long enough period of time for him to contact Scott—but he knew as soon as he did, shit would hit the fan and whatever peace he was enjoying here, would be gone.  
  
Letting his gang know he was alive was important, but still. Stiles looked at Malia who was on her hands and knees, gathering her supplies into the basket she had brought them in. He knew he’d pay for his decision later, but tonight he wanted just a little more quiet. He wanted to be selfish.  
—  
Stiles reached over and took the basket out of Malia’s hands and placed it behind him against the far wall, his form blocking her way. There was still a lot of shit all over that area so without a place to keep everything, Malia didn’t have much to do.  
  
“Seriously? Give it back!”  
  
“I have questions..”  
  
“Great. Interrogate me later,” Malia crawled to the side of the double bed Stiles lounged at, but Stiles blocked her access. “Oh my God, Stiles..we don’t put this all in one place and we’re never finding it again! You told this to me yourself!”  
  
“I find things..”  
  
“I don’t need gauze a week from now—I’ll need it tomorrow.” Stiles didn’t move, raising his eyebrows at her. Malia huffed, then lay down on the bed beside Stiles, pulling a pillow under her head and getting comfortable. Something was behind her, and pulling it out, she scooted forward a little, lobbing Stiles’ shirt to him.  
  
“Here. Put your shirt back on.”  
  
“Why?” Stiles looked from Malia to the garment.  
  
“Cause I’m lying in bed with you, and…” Malia's eyes drifted from his face to his chest. Stiles was broad shouldered with a lean build. His skin was dotted with beauty spots and she suspected it was the gang stereotype, that had her expecting him to be covered in tattoos.  
  
“Are they disturbing you?”  
  
“Hmm..?” Malia blinked Stiles back in focus. She didn’t even know when she’d drifted into her thoughts. She’d just been thinking about the criss crossing pattern and what weapon could have caused it, that she’d ended up staring at his chest the whole time.  
  
“No..they’re beautiful…” Malia said honestly, reaching over to feel a scar that ran from Stiles’ shoulder to mid breast.  
  
Halfway down, Stiles caught her wrist and held it. “It tickles,” he said returning the hand back to her side. Malia arched her left eyebrow, her eye taking on a mischievous glint. “Malia..” Stiles warned, arms already up to defend himself.  
  
Malia shot into a seating position, and began tickling his sides. He tried wiggling away from her but only managed to sandwich himself between her merciless attack and the wall. Finally, Stiles grabbed her wrists and with a move that could only be described as hot, later—because suddenly she was on her back with him over her—they’re play fighting came to a halt.  
  
“That’s a no then.”  
  
“To what?”  
  
“I don’t stand a chance against fully healed Stiles.” Malia smiled. Stiles ducked his head, before smiling back at her.  
  
“I would never hurt you,” His brown eyes were soft as he said those words.  
  
Malia didn’t know why she did most things, having never fully thinking them through. But even as she moved her hands in his grip and laced her fingers in his, squeezing down, it felt right—giving him her wordless consent—as she closed her eyes, head tilting up, the same time he leaned down, their lips meeting in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Throws pen down* Not really lol I half typed half wrote this monster. I can't believe how long it's been since I updated..I was literally scared to check when Ch11 was posted.. I tell you!! This chapter was harder to write than it had any right to be. But I’m happy with thiiis. I hope you’re happy too <3333 And they kissed! \\(^_^)/ Finally right?


	13. Just Let Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: If you are having a good day, I suggest you come back later.

Scott looked around the row of houses beside the apartment Stiles lived in, and sighed. It was hard to take a lead on this, when there was not much to go on. The neighbours were guaranteed to say nothing, even if they saw something that would help, despite knowing who his parents were. He was affiliated with the Beacon Wolves, and that’s the only thing they cared about.  
  
While heading towards his bike, he had reached two conclusions: Either Stiles was taken or he was dead. Retaliation was in order for both cases. They had been on the defence for too long—it was time to take action. There was literally only one person he’d want to talk to about this, and he was done keeping secrets from her.  
  
Scott pulled out his phone to call Kira, when he noticed an unread message from her, asking him to call.  
  
Dialing the number quickly, Scott got Kira on the second ring. “That was quick,” were the first words out of Kira’s mouth. She have never been a ‘hi how are you’ person, preferring to get straight to the point. “Where are you right now?”  
  
“Where do you want me to be?” Scott casually asked. He’d rather not disclose the thing with Stiles on the phone.  
  
“Ellen and Rover in ten. Can you?”  
  
“Be there in five.” Scott kicked his bike into gear, speeding down the road.  
—  
Scott and Kira had been friends for a long time, had gone through a lot together, and whenever they needed that little time to get away, Ellen and Rover was where they went.  
  
Contrary to the way it sounded, Ellen and Rover wasn’t an intersection but a spot that was dear to their hearts—it was the place they first met seven years ago. Ellen and Rover signalled privacy. It also signalled a sense of urgency.  
  
The town sat beside a beach but the winds were too strong even in the summer, which was the reason it was deserted majority of the time. Beside the beach, a small, crude mountain of rocks faced the water.    
  
Thankfully, it was a hot summer night, making the breeze a welcome change. Scott climbed the rocks carefully, making his way over to the figure sitting closer to the water, cross-legged, almost half hidden from view, by the road. Kira looked up upon hearing him, the bright full moon lighting up her features. It was close to eight by that time; the sky already dark, and the stars out.  
  
The corners of Scott’s lips tilted up just a little, as he stood with one leg on the higher rock in front of him, the other on a lower one, a couple feet away from her. Kira was as beautiful as she was deadly—both intellectually and in weaponry, having inherited the qualities of both her parents. Her almond shaped black eyes reflected the orb of the full moon in them, framed by an oval shaped face, her long hair swaying lightly in the breeze, pushing away from her face to reveal an eyebrow quirked up at him.    
  
“What’re you waiting for..?” Kira broke into his thoughts, “An invitation?”  
  
Scott’s smile grew by a fraction, his dimples showing. Kira rolled her eyes, a smile tugging her own lips—only Scott could coax out that light aired part of her, him knowing her so long, so well.  
  
She loved that they could have entire conversations without once saying a word. People called it freaky, but they weren’t blind to know what it really was, though they never seemed to have the time to explore it—not with the life choices they’d made.  It was better this way—to have that little distance emotionally, but maybe…maybe someday..  
  
Scott took a seat beside Kira, feet dangling from the edge of the rock, as they sat shoulder to shoulder in silence, listening to the waves splashing against the rocks closer to the water. It had been a while since they’d spent some one on one time together—having this small moment before going back to business as usual, was nice.  
  
“You really would’ve made an excellent leader,” he said finally.  
  
Kira shook her head, “You know I didn’t want it. Watching Akito and Rai,” she said naming her brother and his second, “I didn’t feel cut out for either. I’m happy where I sit. Speaking of. Were you in the neighbourhood?”  
  
“You could say that. So? Why meet here?”  
  
“You first.” Kira looked at Scott expectantly.  
  
Scott shook his head. He might as well be transparent with how Kira could see through him so easily. “What gave it away this time?”  
  
“You sounded on edge. You were evasive rather than key-wording on the phone. Also the quick arrival time? You did not come from home.” she counted each point off her fingers.  
  
“So what’s up?” Kira cocked her head, waiting. Scott had that expression on his face like he was building what to say in his head, rather than stalling. It must be a sensitive topic if it was taking so long to articulate.  
  
“It’s Stiles.” Scott said finally. “He’s…”  
  
“You heard back from him?” Kira prompted when Scott trailed off.    
  
“No. I don’t think we’re going to hear back from him,” Scott could already see denial creeping into her expression, but he went on anyways, “Kir, he’s missing.”  
  
“No Scott, no.” Kira shook her head. “He _can’t_ be. Wolves don’t go _missing_ Scott…they—“ She cut herself off, not wanting to verbalize her thoughts.  
  
“I know.” Scott pressed his lips together, “But until we know more, _that’s_ what his status is staying as.”  
  
Kira shook her head, unable to digest Scott’s words. “How long have you known about him..this?”  
  
“I’ve had a bad feeling in my gut something was wrong,” Scott admitted, “like when I called Stiles both times, his phone was off. Stiles’ phone is never off, which was my first hint.  
  
I went to his apartment after school today—that’s where I was before you messaged—and his bike was there in the side, like it always is. His door was locked, and no signs of break-in or a struggle, which yes, good signs, but the fridge was empty and Connor,” he said naming the convenience store owner near Stiles’ place, “hasn’t seen him since last week.”  
  
“Okay,” Kira took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her father had instilled her time and time again, you needed to be calm and clear headed in situations such as these. “Let’s look at our facts. He was at lunch on Friday but was a no show at your place after school.  He’s also been absent Monday, and today. Anything else? Did Stiles say _anything_ to you on Thursday that might have been questionable?”  
  
“I don’t think so.” Scott laced his fingers in front of him.  
  
“That’s not a no.” Kira pointed out. “Walk me through everything that happened.”  
—  
Scott took a deep breath. This was still hard to think about. Despite being faced with the possibility of never seeing Stiles again, Scott felt a sudden surge of betrayal rise up, and he had to fight, to keep it at bay.  
  
“I sent Stiles to check out a place on the other side of town that day, knowing it would take him an hour there and back. Enough time to figure out what to say to him; maybe hear him out, as I waited for him to get back, only it took him _three_ hours and when he returned, it was with that girl.”  
  
Scott took another breath, and relayed the rest of the events of that day. How Stiles had told him the girl was clean, after the mishap with his jacket—this information upset Scott because the only reason Stiles would investigate this girl’s background, is if he was planning to continue his interactions with her—and how Stiles seemed protective of her already, wanting the BW to protect her as well.  
  
He was still struggling to understand why Stiles had kept lying to him, fully knowing Scott wouldn’t take to it kindly. Most of the rules were born from his mistakes. The rules to keep distance from everyone was about protection. Protection from Hale. Protection from danger. Protection from trouble. He thought Stiles understood that, but guess he was wrong. Stiles clearly thought he knew better—did whatever he wanted to do anyways, and to what? Put his girlfriend’s life in jeopardy.  
  
Scott sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. What was _wrong_ with him? Here he was, trying to remember any clues to help with Stiles’ disappearance. What was he doing getting mad at him again?  
  
He shook his head, saying quietly, “Where was I?”  
  
“Stiles wanted our protection for his…friend,” Kira reminded him gently. She could probably sense he was having a hard time with all of this.  
  
“Right…” Pushing the anger and hurt aside, Scott thought back to the conversation.  
  
And there it was.  
  
“He did say something interesting.” Scott started biting his nails, “‘She got in front of a gun for me’, ” he muttered the words Stiles said to him out loud. “ ‘We have to protect her from Hale.’ ”  
  
“Wow.” Kira raised her eyebrows at the girl’s stupidity. “So she protected Stiles…Why? And don’t say because she is stupid,” Kira quickly added, when Scott opened his mouth to speak, “That much is obvious.”  
  
“I was going to say, it doesn’t matter why. What matters is he came face to face with Hale when he was alone. It’s possible Stiles saw something they were trying to hide from us. The girl could just be an insignificant thing in all this.”  
  
“Because Stiles said she was clean?”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“I hope it’s just that.” Kira’s tone alerted Scott something was up. He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised.  
  
“I don’t like the sound of that.” Scott turned, so he was facing her, sitting straighter. “What is it?”  
  
“Before I get to that, there’s something you should know, and I’d rather you hear it from me first,” Kira dug into her pocket and produced a crumpled sheet of paper, which she then unfolded and smoothed out before handing it to Scott.  
  
Scott only had to read the first three words to know it was written in another language, still most likely in code, and a hundred percent, from Akito. He could recognize the former leader’s writing anywhere.  
  
“Wow. When—“  
  
“It wasn’t really gang business, so I didn’t mention it earlier..but they’ve been allowing him to send me letters. I got this a day ago but Lydia wanted to study for test together, so it had to wait until today.”  
  
“So what’s it say?” Scott passed the paper back.  
  
“Complaining about mom’s baking skills mostly.”  
  
Kira watched for Scott’s expression; she wasn’t disappointed, as Scott frowned in confusion, “I didn’t know you’re mom could bake..?”  
  
Kira chuckled, “She can’t.” She looked down at the slanted writing, “Akito was always a genius when it came to coding. It took me a couple hours, because it’s amazing how he’s done it. Like when he is ‘reminiscing’ about the baking, he’s describing something else.”  
  
“Drugs?”  
  
She nodded, “There’s a new drug in the market. Akito says there’s no street name yet, so I’m guessing it’s still mostly unknown, though spreading fast. The drug is deadly and mixed with other drugs, making it hard to detect and the quantities are unreliable. Akito says it’s within our territory now, and the cops are on alert, trying to crack on the source.  
  
“I’m positive Hale has something to do with its distribution. How easy would it be for him to plant it on us the way he did with my brother? You know how badly he wants to claim our area too.”  
  
Scott was quiet for a bit. “…you think the girl’s a recruit?”  
  
“I mean, her timing with Stiles—it’s suspicious. And then Stiles kept lying to you, and now he’s disappeared. What if she had something to do with it?”  
  
Scott stared in front of him, absorbing everything Kira said. Her musings made sense. It would be worth it to keep an eye on the girl for now, but who to get to do it? This matter was tricky; he wanted to be careful on how tight a circle he wanted around this.  
  
Should he let Lydia and Isaac on on Stiles’ disappearance, or wait a day or two? This led to thoughts on Liam. Liam was too new to the group, to have him be involved. Unless Scott could use him somehow without his knowledge..  
  
Scott knew he had to be careful with this decision. If he chose wrong, it was on him. On one hand, they could drop the boy without an explanation, but if they were being watched, they could keep up the appearance of obliviousness, and also keep an eye on Liam in case he was mixed up in all this.  
  
As much as he hated second guessing his Right Hand, if Stiles could fuck up on the girl, he could fuck up on Liam too. A small part of him felt bad in using the sophomore like this, but the dominant part didn’t mind playing dirty. His Wolves were his first priority, and to him, their safety was all that mattered.  
  
Scott tilted his head up and gazed at the stars, leaning against the rock that sat perpendicular to the one he was on. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kira mimic him.  “Do you ever wish that we could just..quit?”  
  
“Like an eject button?”  
  
“Yeah. Or a reboot..redo..whatever.”  
  
“Yeah,” Kira’s voice turned soft. Scott turned to look at her. She caught his eyes and smiled wistfully. “Sometimes I just feel like trading places with that girl down the street. The one that gets drunk at parties, yelling out all the lyrics to the songs, and her biggest worry is choosing the perfect dress for a school dance.”  
  
Scott sighed inwardly. Yes. A break from reality. For him it was taking a bus out of town, getting off some place that had nothing to do with gangs, and then wander the roads, with only his wallet and keys on him. That's something he'd never be able to do in Beacon Hills; walk around unarmed.  
  
For some unknown reason, Scott’s mind drifted to Stiles again. Stiles and his girl. Maybe..It was possible Stiles’ weird attachment to the girl was because she made him feel normal. Made him forget the world was a scary place, and that’s what made her worth protecting—to a point where Stiles put himself in danger.  
  
He didn’t know. Scott had no idea what Stiles was thinking. And at this point he didn’t even care. He just wanted his best friend back, safe. _Alive._  
—  
When Malia woke up slowly on Wednesday, two things became apparent in her mind. One—she had overslept for school, and two—she was not in her apartment.  
  
A slow smile grew on her face as her eyes searched the room for Stiles. She found him sitting at the edge of the bed, back turned toward her, staring down at something he was holding. He wore a dark blue cotton shirt and grey sweatpants, and the no longer steaming cup of coffee beside him on the table, showed he had been awake for a while.    
  
Malia made a face. If Stiles had been up earlier, he could have woken her up and then maybe she wouldn’t have missed… Malia searched the room for the wall clock she had spotted last night. She groaned inwardly—it was twelve minutes past ten. Well no point grumbling about it now.  
  
She turned her face back to Stiles, and watched him for a couple minutes, gaze moving from his hunched form, to his face, bathed in late morning sunlight, the angle turning his light brown eyes, golden.    
  
“Hey,” Malia said softly, reaching an arm out to Stiles, getting his attention. Stiles put whatever he had been holding, down, and it slipped to the floor as he turned on his front, elbows supporting him, so Malia had to look up.  
  
“Hey.” He responded, eyes traveling around her face, expression unreadable. Smiling, Malia curled her fingers around the nape of his neck, bringing Stiles down for a kiss. He responded, but something felt off about it, and then when Malia went to deepen the kiss, Stiles withdrew completely.  
  
“What’s wrong? Malia frowned, propping herself on her elbow. Stiles shook his head, staring at the bedsheets. Malia cupped his face with her other hand, and made him face her. “Stiles?”  
  
There was a couple moments of silence, then: “We can’t do this, Malia..I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have even..”  Malia’s hand dropped from Stiles’ face like he’d burned her, but Stiles just kept talking, “It’s—I got caught up in all this, and—I can’t.”  
—  
  
Malia drew away from him slowly, clutching the bedsheet to her chest, as she sat up. She couldn’t believe this was happening..  
  
“So this is it? Me an’ you. Just like that?” she asked, face contorted in anger. She wanted to kick, or scream at him, but she didn’t do either. Maybe if it was her first time being in this position of feeling like trash—feeling used after sex, she’d be more angry, but it wasn’t.  
  
She didn’t know why she’d expected it to be different this time. To get out of the cycle of being told over and over, how she seemed to be attracted to trouble, and prove to God knows who—that sometimes, things worked out for the better. She didn’t know why she had expected Stiles to change that.  
  
Not even looking, Malia reached over the side of the bed, and pulled a shirt off the floor slipping it on. Grabbing her bra off the floor, Malia hurriedly got into her jeans. She was so fucking stupid. How could she be so fucking _stupid_? She had to get out of there—fast—before she did something even _more_ stupid.  
  
“Malia..” She heard Stiles’ voice near her.  
  
“Don’t.” Malia didn’t look at him as she pocketed her house keys, wanting to leave as soon as possible, but Stiles grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him, and she found herself unable to pull away.  
  
Stiles’ eyes looked conflicted, like he was on the verge of explaining himself, empty promises at the tip of his tongue, but all he did instead was cup her face in his hands, and kiss her deeply.    
—  
Despite wanting to leave just a second ago, she responded immediately, kissing him back. Malia’s heart hurt, as soon as she realized this wasn’t a plea to stay. There was a certain level of desperate intensity, that made it a goodbye.  
  
Nothing was ever easy with Stiles, and she felt helpless for being unable to deny him, even though she knew—she knew it was over, she let him break her in a way she never thought was possible.  
  
Stiles’ fingers trembled on her face, and she felt his reluctance in letting her go, and that let loose an avalanche of emotions—confusion, anger, hurt—that slowly manifested into something ugly, and before she could process it fully, Malia jerked back, slapping Stiles hard across his face, before rushing out the door, banging it shut.  
—  
Stiles stood in the same spot for a long time, the silence in the room, deafening. One side of his face burned, and it almost felt good in a way. A mark however brief, symbolizing what a fuck up he was.  
  
He’d woken up that morning to the reality that he’d made a mountain out of a mole hill. He didn’t want to face Malia. _Definitely_ didn’t want to face Scott. All he really wanted to do, was to curl up in his bed, and disappear.  
  
The kiss—that move—he hadn’t planned it, it had just happened. Just like everything he’d ever done with Malia, had just happened. He cared for her—God he cared for her so much, and it made him _angry_. How did he fall so deep so quickly? Especially since he knew there was never a chance of—  
  
“ _Shit!_ ” Stiles grabbed the cup of coffee off the table and smashed it against the wall, uncaring that its contents made a mess on the floor. Feeling completely drained all of a sudden, he fell down, landing on the leather jacket he’d dropped earlier, fists clenched in his lap.  
  
He didn’t know how long he stayed like that—head leaning against his bed, eyes shut tightly, as he trembled—probably just a couple minutes, but slowly his breathing regulated to normal, and though he didn’t want to move, Stiles drew back from the bed and sought for his phone.

Time to anger and disappoint more people.  
—  
In no time at all, Scott parked his bike in front of a large brick house, its outer appearance still portraying the innocent facade the Yukimuras had projected over the years. This was Kira’s old residence left to her and her brother. Before leaving to New York on their last ‘business trip’, in the event the parents didn’t return, possession of the house went to their kids.  
  
Kira lived here with Akito and two of his friends, until the Beacon Wolves under Akito, were framed for a crime they didn’t commit, so when the cops had torn the place apart, they predictably found nothing. It was after Akito’s arrest that Scott had taken over, what with their territory being vulnerable to Hale. He knew it was something he’d agreed to, but never expected it to happen so abruptly and to suffer so many losses from when he started.  
  
The estate was grand, even in its overgrown state; vines creeping up on the sides, weeds taking over the previous meticulous care of the lawn. Kira’s parents had left enough money to last their children a comfortable life, so keeping the appearance up wouldn’t have been much of a hassle. The lack of care then, was more a reflection of the siblings’ lack of interest, rather than money issues.

Scott walked along the side of the house, jumping over the rusted garden gate, to find Kira waiting on the topmost of the wide steps leading into the backyard. He took two steps at a time, until he was standing beside her. “He inside?”  
  
“The kitchen,” Kira responded, but didn’t follow Scott inside.  
  
When Stiles called during his Math class—Scott shot out without an explanation, before suspiciously taking the call—Stiles had mentioned to Scott, his Circle of Trust was Level 2, which meant it included Kira. CoTs worked as a means to determine the sensitivity to the subject, and was up to the person giving the information, and Scott only asked this of Stiles. For instance, Level 1 was just the BW leader.  
  
As curious as Kira might be about what happened to Stiles though, this part—the Talk—she wasn’t privy to it.  
  
Scott made his way through the large living room, overlooking the backyard, and walking down the corridor, turned left. The kitchen in Kira’s parent’s house, was a beautiful one, steel knobs and handles matching the faucet; the cupboards and drawers made from some sort of dark wood. The counter top of the main area and the island, was made from the same stone, like granite. A dream kitchen. An envy of every household in the neighbourhood.  
  
There he saw Stiles, back leaning against the crook of the countertop, hunched over, almost like he was trying to melt into the background. Scott’s first reaction was relief. Relief to see Stiles alive. It didn’t last long however. Stiles didn’t look harmed from here, but his demeanour was a clear sign of guilt.  
  
Scott’s fingers immediately balled into fists, and he had to force them to spread back out, take deep breaths, and keep a clear mind—he had to, or he would lose it with Stiles, and he couldn’t let that happen if he wanted to hear him out.  
  
He walked into the room, until he stood a few feet in front of Stiles, looking intimidating in a black tank, arms crossed over his chest, gaze steady on his Second’s face.    
  
“Where you been?” he started, eyes narrowed.  
—  
Stiles’ eyes looked everywhere, but at the boy in front of him. Biting his lip, he wondered where he should start, his mind blanking on what he’d planned to say.  
  
“Wow. _Really_ Stiles?”  
  
Stiles flushed, and abandoned trying to remember what he’d rehearsed. So of course he ended up blurting out, “I was stabbed. On Friday.”  
  
Even without looking at Scott, Stiles knew what he would find. It was rare that people could tell what Scott was thinking, unless he wanted them to know, having perfected the art of looking disinterested in everything. “I lost consciousness. I would have died—“  
  
“But you didn’t.” Scott cut in, the steely edge that crept in his tone, made Stiles flinch.  
  
“No. I was found by..the girl. She got a hold of a contact and they took care of me.” Stiles said carefully, knowing mentioning Malia, was going to ruffle Scott up—she was, after all, the reason they had a tiff in the first place.  
  
“And when d’you wake up?”  
  
Stiles hesitated for a split second, before saying, “The next day, but I was in an’ out. I felt like myself on Sunday.”  
  
“You were found Friday night…” Scott trailed off. “D’you know what day it is today, Stiles?”    
  
Stiles didn’t respond—he wasn’t required to—but he did know it was only doing downhill from there. Scott was starting to show how agitated he was.  
  
“Did you misplace the charger? Your phone damaged?”  
  
The questions kept coming and Stiles shook his head, staring at the floor in silence. He didn’t have anything that could help him explain his actions, because there was no explanation. He could have easily used Malia’s cell to contact Scott, since he had done the same with his dad. No one had forced his hand. He had made a choice—and now he was paying for it.  
  
“Your undamaged phone was in your possession for over 12 hours, and you didn’t _think,_ it would be important to inform _me_ , that someone tried to _kill_ you?!”  
  
“I—“  
  
“Do you know what I was doing Tuesday evening, hm? I was standing in _your_ empty apartment, thinking you were dead, Stiles! I called you twice before; I know you’ve seen it by now. And when you got your phone back, what did you do? Or more yet what did you _not_ do?”  
  
“Scott—“  
  
“Tell me Stiles..how am I supposed to trust you now?”  
  
Stiles’ head shot up at that, his lungs feeling like they were empty of air. Trust was a hard thing to gain back, and being Scott’s Second, it was all about trust, and him saying that, Stiles..he couldn’t digest it.

Scott was the most important person in his _life_. He’d willingly give his up for Scott, and just the thought of being kicked out, of losing him, of not being able to protect him, filled Stiles with a crushing sense of dread.  
  
“Scott, please..I—“ Stiles looked at Scott for the first time since he entered the room, desperate words tumbling out of him. “I—I’ve been. _Fuck_. I’ve been so stupid, and I know I hurt you, and whatever you want to do, I will—“ Stiles swallowed with difficulty, “—I’ll respect it, but I’m just. I want—I just wanna lay out what happened, if you’d let me. Please let me.”  
  
Scott stood quietly, gaze direct, face unreadable. Silence stretched on, as they stared at one another.  
  
Stiles clutched the corner of the island top, knuckles turning white, as the marble edge dug into his palm, heart beating hard against his chest. He’d probably said too much, or not enough. He didn’t even know what he’d said exactly, but there was nothing left to do but hear what Scott had to say, and the longer the leader took to speak, the lower his heart sank.  
  
Voice thick with emotion, Stiles whispered, “ _Please_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo there Lovelies. Been a long while eh? Promise I’m not making a habit out of it, just going through a lot. So…how many of you are regretting my update, after that clusterfuck of angst you just read? My delay was mostly because of postponing writing the last scene..and the second last scene. I did try toning it down as much as I could. You would have hated the 1st and 2nd version. Also I hope you heeded the warning. Also…all my babies are idiots. Well, except maybe for Kira… Working on the update already!! xoxo


	14. Set Fire to the Sky

_Stiles clutched the corner of the island top, knuckles turning white, as the marble edge dug into his palm, heart beating hard against his chest. He’d probably said too much, or not enough. He didn’t even know what he’d said exactly, but there was nothing left to do but hear what Scott had to say, and the longer the leader took to speak, the lower his heart sank._  
  
_Voice thick with emotion, Stiles whispered, “Please.”_  
—  
Scott pursed his lips, not knowing why he said what he did. The comment with having trust issues, had no substance; it had come out, out of his frustration. Trust is something he would always have with Stiles. There was something upon first meeting him, that drew Scott in, instantly. The more time they spent together, the more seamless they became, to the point there was no doubt in his mind, that Stiles was a perfect fit for the Beacon Wolves.  
  
At the back of his mind, Scott knew his anger had nothing to do with Stiles’ disobedience.  Whoever had gone or ordered to go after Stiles, it was done to hurt him. Just the thought of losing Stiles… That night Kira hadn’t left his side, because she knew how upset he was, and didn’t want Scott to do anything rash.  
  
Lives of his friends, ended, just for the sake of power, was something Scott couldn’t take lying down; he couldn’t go through that again. The fact that Stiles had been alive the entire time—him not being told was a small part of it. Scott had been mentally preparing himself to face the reality of never seeing his best friend again, and Stiles making him go through it, was what hurt.  
  
Still, he couldn’t bare to see Stiles look the way he did now—his brave, strong Second, so broken down. Scott knew Stiles wouldn’t do anything without a reason. This was his chance to find out what those reasons were, to hear Stiles out, find out who was after them, and do—actually do something about it.  
  
“Okay,” he said finally, into the stillness of the room.  
—  
Stiles stared at him, in shock. Scott wasn’t kicking him out. This thought kept playing in his mind over and over again. He had prepared for the rejection in his mind, had already given up, knowing he could never enter into a space Scott occupied, so this one word—Stiles had no idea what to do with it, or what it was supposed to mean.  
  
“Start from the beginning,” Scott continued. Still, Stiles stared at him wordlessly, mouth agape. “Stiles?” Scott’s voice laced with concern, was what snapped Stiles out of whatever state he had fallen into.  
  
“Yeah.” He said dazedly, letting out a huge breath he hadn’t even realize he was holding. “The beginning,”  
—  
Slowly the story came out—how Stiles had first met the girl, then the other events that forced them to interact further, until she became something, someone Stiles would get attached to, be protective of.  
  
Scott interrupted only a couple times, one of them being the incident with the weed.  
  
“You deal?” His voice was quiet, careful, and Stiles couldn’t pinpoint his tone. It could be any number of things. Annoyed, concerned, angry—all of them, justified. The police had been on the hunt, tracking dealers with a vengeance lately. Stiles couldn’t be caught dealing.  
  
“Not really.” Stiles responded knowing it wasn’t a definite ‘no’ Scott was looking for, but he didn’t want to elaborate. Scott needn’t know the dealer he’d gotten the weed from, was dead. The details of how it happened were irrelevant, not that Stiles would tell anyone anyways. The point was—there was no way to link it to him. He’d made sure of it.  
  
However, Scott wasn’t an easy one to shake off, raising both eyebrows, reminding Stiles that this was his ‘tell all’, so he’d better start giving something better than a “ _not really_ ”. Huffing slightly, Stiles added reluctantly, “It was bought in bulk. I use it to bribe people.”  
  
Scott regarded him, lips pursed, and Stiles noticed it this time. Scott was worried, and maybe a little bit annoyed, but he guessed the latter was more about the lack of information Stiles was dishing out.  
  
“I’m very careful, Scott. Obsessively so.” he tried reassuring him. Scott’s shoulders visibly relaxed at that, and Stiles was so relieved to see it—it meant Scott trusted his word; he still trusted him, and that knowledge was god sent at this point.    
  
Scott leaned against the counter behind him, gesturing his hand to the side, as if to tell Stiles to continue with the original story.  
  
So he did.  
—  
During Stiles’ retelling of ‘No Man’s Land’, spotting Hale, and the confrontation that had occurred after, Scott moved forward, stance changing so both hands lay flat against the island top, bracing himself against it, face deep in thought.  
  
To his surprise, the leader didn’t ask Stiles more about Malia, or for him to keep going. Maybe he’d decided it wasn’t necessary to know everything, or he had pieced some things together that didn’t need immediate confirmation.  
  
Stiles suspected Scott was not very happy about Malia’s development in Stiles’ life—and indirectly, his own—so he focused on other things. More important things.  
  
“So why did the guns come out?” Scott asked. “It doesn’t sound like Derek’s way, getting you killed by ambush or in the middle of the night. He’s known to _love_ taking credit.”  
  
“Derek’s newest recruits.” Stiles mirrored Scott, leaning heavily on his hands braced wide. “Cora has officially joined the ranks. I’m ninety percent sure it’s as an informant.  
  
“She’s free to go in and out of highschool parties like us. She blends in, so befriending someone in our territory, or bribing for information, is now more accessible for Hale. I didn’t think he would do it though. Involve his sister in this?”  
  
Scott didn’t respond to the comment, mind already focused on somewhere else. “You said recruits.”  
  
“Yeah. The other guy goes to our school. He’s a shady little—“ Stiles started heatedly. Before he could add a couple more expletives about Theo’s ‘charm’, he noticed Scott give his ‘ _I don’t fucking care about your side monologues_ ’ look and to get straight to the point.  
  
Thinking about the event, still enraged him. Caitlin wasn’t just his contact, she was his friend first. She knew him before his mother passed away, and somehow she had managed to coax her way through the walls Stiles had built and shut all round him.  
  
When Theo had started spreading rumours about Caitlin, she had been devastated for _weeks_ , inconsolable because of her fallout with Emily, and that had indirectly affected him. He hadn’t been able to use her skills, and it was a job only she could do for him. It was around the time he realized he couldn’t only have two contacts, which is why he’d broadened his connections.  
  
“It’s Theo Reeking or something like that. I didn’t have enough time to look into him since everything that happened after..”  
  
“Right.” Scott sighed.  
  
“By getting him, Hale probably wants eyes on us. Theo’s in our year, and me knowing he’s one of them, they lose that element of surprise. If they’re planning some big take down, this knowledge would be a huge damper on their plans.”  
  
“A solid reason to kill you.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“I think it’s time we bring Kira in, don’t you?”  
—  
Stiles walked out of the French doors to find Kira standing exactly where he’d left her, leaning against the pillar, and staring unfocused at a distant spot. She turned slightly to look at him, when she heard the wooden floorboards creak.  
  
Frank eyes travelled up and down his lean frame. “Wont lie, I thought you’d come out black and blue.”  
  
“You’re not the only one.” Stiles eyed the line of trees by the fountain in the backyard. “Kind of wish he had to be honest.” He wondered what that said about him..the itch, seeking physical, hurtful punishments for his wrong doing.  
  
Kira eyed Stiles’ stance, her sharp eyes noticing him favour his right leg, leaning a little to the side, and slouching. It was unlike the way he usually stood, so she guessed he was subconsciously shielding an injury.  
  
Without so much as a warning, she punched the side of Stiles’ stomach, that had him doubling over gasping, scrambling for air into his lungs.  
  
Unmoved by his red face, Kira turned fully toward him, arms crossed in front of her, and continued in her level tone, “You sure no shard was left in there..?”  
  
Stiles nodded, still hunched. “Blade wasn’t broken,” he croaked.  
  
“Nikita?” Kira named the bigger of the two Stiles carried on his person. He nodded, on the verge of getting his breathing back to normal.  
  
Kira didn’t give him a chance and taking a hold of his shoulder, kneed him. Down Stiles went, knees hitting the floorboards hard. Clutching his side, he shielded himself away from her, as pain flaring over the bruised flesh, but he didn’t fight back, just took deep breaths and stood up again.  
  
It’s what he wanted. It may sound twisted, but he needed this. He needed to balance the feelings of restlessness of his wrong doing, with a physical type of hurt. He didn’t know if that necessarily made sense in general, but it did to him.  
  
“How could you do this to Scott, especially after Allison?” Kira wasn’t done, delivering it in her quiet voice, which for Stiles, was worse than yelling. “You selfish bastard.”  
  
Stiles avoided looking at her, dreading seeing her more than Scott, when he’d hung up after talking with Scott on the phone. Scott had more restraint when it came to discipline; it was actually annoying how perfect he was sometimes. But Kira, like him, was very protective of Scott, and this betrayal of Stiles’, it didn’t matter that they were on the same side…  
  
“So you good? Feel better?” As soon as she saw Stiles nod, Kira let out a breath slowly, her shoulders loosening. Stiles met her eyes then, and she gave him the slightest of nods.  
  
They were good.  
—  
“Kissed and made up?” Scott said without looking up, typing a message on his phone.  
  
“Yup. He’s still a terrible kisser, but there’s only so much I can do,” Kira said, rolling her eyes at Stiles’ affronted look.  
  
“How was it?”  
  
“Why? Jealous it wasn’t you?”  
  
Scott levelled her with a look, “Wanted to know how good it was for the girl.” When Kira titled her head to the side in confusion, he added wickedly, “they fucked.”  
  
Kira looked utterly delighted at the news. Stiles wanted to die of embarrassment. Was he _that_ predictable? “It’s over so you can shut up. I said, stop it Kira!”  
  
Scott squinted at Stiles, “Pity.”  
  
“What?” Stiles frowned. He thought Scott would be happy he’d broken it off with Malia.  
  
“What a pity.” Scott said slowly.  
  
“I _know_ what you meant, you asswad. I’m not daft.”  
  
“Daft,” Kira scoffed, “What are you? 73?”  
  
A part of Stiles’ mind was stuck on her specificity of the age, but Stiles refused to let it distract him from Scott’s statement. “Why pity, Scott?” He insisted.  
  
Scott pursed his lips before choosing his words carefully, “She’s protective of you as much as you are of her. We could have used it, had we played it right.”  
  
Anger flared in Stiles’ gut and he felt like breaking something and he wasn’t entirety sure why. Was it because he had ended it very badly with Malia, and now the opportunity slipped away or  the thought of actively putting her in danger? Scott’s wording about “using” her?  
  
Taking a deep breath, Stiles thought about what Scott had said in an objective manner; like the rational Second of Scott McCall should.  
  
“She works at No Man’s Land,” he worked out. “Get them to follow her, capture the member, get info and swift kill.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“It can still happen,” Kira commented with a meaningful glance toward Stiles.  
  
“No.” Stiles said immediately, thinking about that stinging slap he’d received only that morning, and even then, “she won’t do it.”  
  
“She will for you.” Scott stated, jotting down something else on a torn piece of paper or napkin.  
  
“Not now she won’t,” Stiles repeated stubbornly.  
  
“Why, what did you do?” Kira arched a brow. “Leave before she woke up?” Stiles shook his head. “Then what?”  
  
Stiles didn’t want to be a part of this conversation, but it was becoming clear the subject wouldn’t move along, unless he gave them something. “Told her it was a mistake,” he murmured reluctantly, fully anticipating the smack delivered to the back of his head.  “I did it for her own good!”  
  
“Does _she_ know that?” Scott tried to gently point out, the same time Kira rolled her eyes, saying, “Like guys know how much girls can or cannot handle!”  
  
Stiles knew he shouldn’t take the bait, but he couldn’t help it. The thing with Malia was still very fresh, and he didn’t like the judgemental tone from Kira. “You know it would have been a bad idea to have her entertain the thought of forever..”  
  
“You should have thought of that _before_ you fucked her! And who wants to spend forever with a guy that can’t even deliver properly, anyway!” Kira spat.  
  
“What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?” Stiles snarled back. Apparently, Kira beating him up earlier, hadn’t released any of _her_ feelings on his disappearance. He’d never seeing her looking so unhinged before.  
  
“You had one job, Stiles. _One_ job! Leave the girl, but no! You’re dick was more important.”  
  
Stiles knew he should calm her down and not add fuel to the fire, but that comment hurt a lot because it was true—he just hadn’t wanted to hear it. Kira though.. she never failed to hit all his sore spots.  
  
“Fuck you, Kira!”  
  
“How dare you talk to me like that you asshole!! Me? _Me_!”  
  
“Jesus, you’re a piece of work, you know that?” Stiles laughed humourlessly, “And here I thought you’d actually be happy to see me appare—“  
  
“You think I’m not happy to see you?! Of course I am but it doesn’t change the fucking fact that you almost fuckin’ _died_ , Stiles!!” Kira shouted, her face contorted in anger.  
  
“ _How_ can you be okay with that?! Teach me. Teach me to be fuckin’ okay with that!! Go on, I’ll wait.” Kira was breathing heavily, hands clenched tightly into fists, looking like she was ready to have another throwdown.  
  
Stiles opened his mouth, but for the second time today was speechless. Until now, he had avoided thinking about that night, observing it in angles of motive and intention of hurting the gang, but never—or fiercely avoided thinking about what had actually happened to him. He’d bundled it all up and pushed it aside, because never seemed to be a good time to dwell on a reminder of his mortality.  
  
Her words stuck though.  
  
And suddenly Stiles couldn’t think of anything else, his vision blurring as his mind went back to that night, the surprise attack right after hanging up the call with Danny, how one of them had cut off his air from behind, while the other frisked him, finding the knife.  
  
Stiles gasped, his lungs empty of oxygen all of a sudden. His knees buckled, toppling him to the floor in an ungraceful heap. He barely registered the flurry of activity around him, as memories of his experiences robbed him of breath, paralyzing him.  
  
The rushing pain as he was kicked down, and fear—actual fear of dying. He hadn’t experienced any dramatic montage of his life like they said would happen—no the one and only thought that occupied his mind as darkness grew from the edges of his sight, was how cold a night it was.  
  
He remembered. He remembered everything.  
—  
Scott rushed to his Second’s side and cupped one hand on Stiles’ right cheek,  “Breathe,” he commanded.  
  
Stiles took a gulp of breath, but it was too much and started coughing uncontrollably. “Easy..easy,” Scott made his voice soothing so it was easy to latch on to. “Calmly..good you’re doing great Stiles..”  
  
Scott’s eyes met Kira’s guilty ones as she rushed to get Stiles a glass of water. So that answered her question.  
  
“Here,” Kira’s voice was soft as she sat in front of them, holding a glass of water out to Stiles. With bleary eyes, Stiles looked at her for a long moment, like he was at the verge of apologizing. Kira shook her head firmly, pressing the glass into his hands.  
  
He took it from her, and scooted back to the cupboards under the island top, so he could lean against it, sipping the water slowly, his legs stretched out in front of him.  
  
Kira wordlessly sat on Stiles’ right, as Scott concernedly watched them from Stiles’ left. He could see how despite everything, Stiles relaxed from simply being in their presence. This whole..thing had been one huge emotional rollercoaster ride, it was no surprise it had ended in a shouting match.  
  
Stiles had the bad habit of shutting himself off, when something upset him. Unlike Scott, Stiles didn’t have a mother who could tell when he was behaving strangely, and call him out on it regularly. Scott knew Stiles didn’t share everything with him, and wasn’t one where safety held some priority, so he was glad despite the shock it had cost him, that Stiles faced his trauma head on, as was healthy.  
  
The three of them fell into companionable silence, until Stiles spoke to no one in particular, his voice hoarse, “I called my dad, asked him for help. Can you imagine?” Stiles sniffed, “Fucking bastard actually sounded like he cared, I mean…”  
  
Scott dropped his gaze to the floor. Hearing Stiles talk bitterly about how he felt indebted to his dad, made him think of his own, and the lack of presence in his life. Unlike Stiles’ though, his dad didn’t live in town and would randomly show up from time to time, whether he was wanted or not.  
  
With a deep sigh, Scott turned back to his friends, and noted Kira clasping Stiles’ hand in her lap, as they leaned on each other, dozing, faces transformed to something angelic. Scott smiled softly, upon seeing this.  
  
Kira and Stiles called themselves his Claws, because of their dangerous knife obsession and how good they were at welding their chosen weapon. It had amused him to no end when he realized Stiles was the male counterpart to Kira, and when it came to protecting the gang, or fighting, or plotting, having that dual combo, was gold. It made sense then how out of sorts Kira had been with the shock of losing Stiles and then seeing him again and witnessing such an uncaring reaction from him, probably broke something in her.  
  
It was tempting to join them, to give in and take something so innocent as a nap, but he was too worried to call on sleep at the moment. There was so much more they needed to discuss, like if Stiles knew anything about his attackers, and so many other things, he’d taken to writing it down.  
  
The talk with Stiles, was very informative for Scott. For one, it was apparent that Stiles cared a great deal about this girl, which meant it wasn’t a fling. Scott was sort of relieved to learn this, because he figured if Stiles was going to risk going behind Scott’s back, it had better been for something more than a fling—although casual sex would have been a healthier option, what with no feelings getting in the way.  
  
But like Kira said, and if Stiles was up for it, they might still be able to cash in on those feelings.  
  
A thought crossed his mind, and checking his watch, Scott got up carefully so as to not wake his friends, and left the room just as quietly.  
—  
Scott leaned against the concrete pillar of a streetlight, in the parking lot of a government building. He lit up a cigarette as he waited, thinking about the facts of the drug case they had so far. If he was going to barter with a cop, he needed to ask the right questions in the small amount of time that was given. Also, he didn’t want to seem like he was desperate for information.  
  
He had changed out of his Wolves jacket, into a grey hoodie which was currently up, obstructing his face. There was only one person in this building, who he wanted to know his identity, and it was a gamble whether or not Scott would see him tonight.  
  
He was in luck as ten minutes later, a tall broad shouldered figure strode through the parking lot, heading towards main town. Scott turned his feet to the same direction, and cut through the trees lining the sidewalk, so he was facing the cop head on.  
  
“Drive-thru’s your best bet if you’re hungry.”  
  
“Scott.” The well dressed man stopped in his tracks, wearing a perfected pokerface, as if he was speaking to a stranger. But, Scott amended in his head, he was.  
  
Scott didn’t say anything, but took another drag of his cigarette, as his companion played with something shiny in his hand, after the lack of response from him.  
  
“I guess you’re here because of the new drug in town,” the cop sank his hands into his coat pockets. It was another cold night. “It’s supposedly better than E. Its claimed to make you focused; obviously catering to students, but this..more taken and its destructive on the inside. Like being on a diet pill but drinking energy drinks at the same time.”  
  
“Still sounds like E…”  
  
“The eating, drinking and sleeping; not out of the equation. They are still needed. The drug relies on food to be effective. It is a release drug. Someone’s been handing them out.”  
  
“Prescription?”  
  
“No.” Scott nodded absently. So the break-in was an isolated event. Also the sudden crack down on the drug dealer hunt made sense. “Either way it’s in your territory. There’s a mole in your midst, Scott. Or someone’s been stepping over boundaries.”   
  
Scott cocked his jaw over to one side in thought. _Great_. More things to worry about. This stupid meeting thing was supposed to clear things up, get information, not create more questions…  
  
“You got something for me?”  
  
A deal was a deal. Scott in no way felt guilty about it. Despite police staying out of gang business and being irritatingly unhelpful, Scott used them to his advantage. If two parties were working towards one goal, victory would come quicker.  
  
“There’s a rave next week. Maybe you’ll get lucky and arrest some users—get answers.”  
  
“Where is it?”  
  
“You’re a cop; it’s your job. _You_ figure it out,”   
  
“I gave you information.” The cop sounded irritated, but just.  
  
“Not all of it. You get the same.”  
  
There was a tense silence between them as Scott’s companion seemed to weigh in on whether it was worth it, to continue the conversation in hopes of more. It seemed the police too, had come to a stand still.  
  
“The drugs are dangerous because of the uneven amounts in each hit. Kids don’t know which stash their getting. That’s what makes their distribution deadly. One hit in a small dose will do as promised: keep the kid on their task. But if they had the heavier stash, one hit and it’d be an overdose.”  
  
Scott pursed his lips. This was not good. The drug really was dangerous, but more so, if it had already infiltrated his territory, the police would be on a tighter watch over his friends.

The agent had delivered, which meant he would have to give specifics too, “The rave’s on Saturday, East side of Celnar Road.”  
  
Silence enveloped them again, and Scott wondered if the cop would push for more. He was after all still standing here, staring at him.  
  
“How’s your mother?”  
  
And there it was. Personal information. _Not_ part of their bargain. Scott though after the day he had, wasn’t in the mood to be petty, so he answered honestly, “Sleepless. Tired. Overworked.”  
  
“How are you?”  
  
“Sleepless.”  
  
“Yukimura’s court date is coming up.”  
  
“You and I both know they’re never letting him out.” Scott flicked the butt of his cigarette in front of him, watching the embers die out.  
  
“You can stop this, Scott.”  
  
“Believe me, I aim to.”  
—  
Agent McCall watched Scott stare at the ground unseeingly. The last time he spoke to him, Scott was 14 and untroubled. So much seemed to have changed in two years. Scott looked too worn out for a 16 year old. Then again, he had taken over a twenty-something’s responsibility.  
  
McCall had never been a good role model, and he in no way wanted to try now, but Scott was— it was Scott, and Rafe felt like the teenager’s fate in the  gang life was all his fault. Of course it was his fault... There were so many things he wanted to say, the urge to apologize, overwhelming. Sorry I left your mom. Sorry I took in the wrong guy who’s now stuck in jail. Sorry I’m why you are, where you are in life.  
  
But _sorry_ meant nothing, not now when what was done, was done.  
  
“Be careful.” It felt weak, but it’s the best he could think of. And if these were the last words he uttered to his son, he could live with it.  
—  
Scott paused for a brief moment, caught by surprise, then nodded once in acknowledgement,  “You too.”  
  
Shoving hands in his pockets, Scott crushed the butt of the cigarette with his toe and walked off. He may resent his dad, may wish he could trade for another, but despite everything he still loved him.  
  
Blood was blood, however fate spun it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo my Loves! I hope everyone is doing well? It’s been a while and I feel terrible each time, but the hope for littler times between updates, is still strong :))) I’m not sure if anyone was disturbed with the punching part, but it was a plot point of the story’s for a while, and taking it out because I was avoiding writing it, was a stupid reason not to keep the scene in. Also, I try not to add plot things in notes, but timelines can be confusing so before people ask, Scott took over the Beacon Wolves in his sophomore year. Believe it or not, the chapter before the editing process didn’t have that much angst in it. I should know this about myself—don’t know why I’m still surprised honestly. Hope you enjoyed the read!! Love much


	15. Take the Wheel

Scott came home bone tired and ready to crash on the couch after his long day, but the lamplight in the living room was on, which meant Isaac was up and most importantly, waiting for him.  
  
Shaking the sleep from his eyes the best he could, he opened the door softly just in case his mom was home and locked it just as slowly. The foyer light was off, but he could still make out Isaac’s tall frame as he leaned against the wooden banister leading to the rooms upstairs.  
  
They looked at one another, Scott searching Isaac’s expression for him mood, but it was too dim  a lighting to tell. The curly haired blonde boy said nothing, and walked into the well-lit kitchen behind him. Intrigued, Scott followed—Isaac wasn’t acting like himself. Something was up.  
  
As soon as Scott entered the kitchen, he saw immediately what mood Isaac was in.  
Quiet contemplation. This wasn’t good. It seemed like the boy had been at whatever seemed to be bothering him for a while, and as much as he hated Isaac picking fights with him, he dreaded this side of the boy more. When Isaac got like this, it was better to have him lead the conversation. Isaac didn’t keep him waiting long, getting straight to the point.  
  
“Kate Argent wrote you a letter.” Isaac’s gaze flicked sharply from the worn kitchen table, right into Scott’s eyes to catch his reaction.  
  
Scott stared at him, “What?” Isaac slid a plain sheet of print paper towards him. It wasn’t so much as a letter as it was one sentence.

“ _‘You’re next, Delgado,’_ ” Isaac quoted, voice tight. “Which means there was a first. Which also means you’re not sharing something and as much as I understand your rules, this affects me if someone has you on a hit list.”  
  
 Scott looked down at the threat, written in messy, barely legible scrawl. “What makes you say it’s Kate?”

“Same handwriting. I had my own doubts, but…” Isaac pulled out another paper, folded over and over until it made a tiny square and opening it, smoothed down the edges, laying it beside the first. Neither of them said anything, as Scott turned the crumpled paper around to face him.  
  
It was Allison’s.  
  
The words blurred in front of him, as his mind slipped to the memory of receiving the letter the first time round. How they had poured over it not wanting to show it to Allison, least she act irrationally. That was their first mistake.  
  
Come to think of it, he was making the same mistakes again. Sharing selective information to certain members, was seemingly working against all of them. Some things like his dad being in town didn’t need to be shared. No one knew of their connection, because his mom changed their last names—but it was a case of security more than deceit.  
  
With Stiles’ attempted attack and this message though, was so close to what happened with Allison, it was better if everyone was in the know. Maybe then…

Scott only realized he’d gripped the side of the wooden dinner table for four, when stubborn fingers pried it off.  
  
“Stop.” Isaac’s voice was firm, like he knew what was running through Scott’s mind. He probably did, being the one person who spent the most time in Scott’s presence. He didn’t move his hand from resting over the Beacon Wolves leader’s. Scott relaxed his hold, but didn’t move away either. “Talk to me, Scott.”  
  
Scott looked into those keen blue eyes surveying him, and made up his mind. “Call Lydia. We’re going out.”  
  
Isaac frowned at the instructions written on a scrap piece of paper Scott handed him. He didn’t recognize the place but he said nothing about it, taking a picture and sent it as he spoke to Lydia about when to meet them.  
  
“Are we going to talk about the letter?” Isaac asked, once they were outside.  
  
“Soon.” Scott handed him the spare helmet which he buckled on, biting back the comment of  having his own bike—there was something very intimate about riding with Scott, and it made him uncomfortable—but now was not the time.  
  
Lydia was waiting for them, arms hugging her sides as she leaned back against a rock wall. It looked like she’d walked the entire way.

“Is everything alright?” Isaac asked as he walked up to her, shrugging his jacket off and over her shoulders. Why she came without hers when it was a cold night was a mystery.  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Lydia flipped her red hair over her shoulder in a dismissive manner, but the boys looked at each other, worried. Lydia abhorred walking anywhere much less late at night.  
  
“What’s this place anyways?” Lydia titled her back, looking around her in confusion. Scott had them meet down a high winding road, with large estates scattered here and there. The ivy covered wall she had been leaning against, looked out of place amongst the pristine, well manicured lawns, “Why are we here?”  
  
Scott looked out at the view. The Yukimura Mansion sat on top of a hill, overlooking the town. It was beautiful, the yellow streetlights creating dotted lights from above. It was so serene, it was a shame the moment would be broken.  
  
“Stiles was attacked last Friday.”  
  
Isaac and Lydia looked at each other shocked then as one, turned to Scott, _“What?!”  
—  
_ “Stiles was—“  
  
“You know we heard you, I meant—“ Lydia was lost for words.  
  
“Oh.” Isaac said simply, connecting the dots together. Seeing Lydia whirl around to glare at him, he was quick to explain, “Scott got a letter. Or more like—“ he took out a piece of paper and another fell out. Lydia unfolded the one on the ground without thought and froze. _  
  
_ “Why…” Lydia’s lip trembled as she held the letter sent to Allison. Isaac wordlessly held the paper received that day, beside the other.  
  
“God, that bitch needs to die!” Lydia whispered.  
—  
Stiles was very much alive and on the phone when Scott, Lydia and Isaac all walked into a living room.  
  
Isaac noticed Stiles’ eyes do a double take at their appearance, and Kira’s surprise, and surmised Scott hadn’t given them a heads up. Which meant had he not said something, Lydia and him wouldn’t even be here. _  
  
_ His eyes followed Stiles as he paced in the room adjacent to this one. Scott had told them everything outside, but the biggest surprise was still the house.  
  
“Are we still in Beacon Hills?” He whispered to Scott who nudged him playfully, also watching Stiles wear down the floor. “A contact?”  
  
“Yeah. Won’t put them on speaker, because….security risk?” Scott sounded incredulous.  
  
“He probably knows the moment they speak to you, he won’t be needed anymore.”  
  
“He’ll always be needed.”  
  
“To us, yeah always.” Isaac crossed his arms, and leaned against the back of a beige couch, “So this girl..what’s her name?”  
  
“I keep forgetting her name. Mally? Melanie?”  
  
“Malia?” Isaac asked, frowning. _  
  
_ “Yeah, that’s it.” Scott turned to him surprised.  
  
“Tracy’s friend then.”  
  
“What do you know?”  
  
“Was in the foster system, but now emancipated. Lives alone. She has a shoplifting problem, and she has a bad taste in boys.” Scott gave him a look, “I’m just sayin’…I’d pick you.”  
  
“You coming on to me, Isaac?”

Despite being several inches taller than Scott, Isaac felt dwarfed by the amused smirk on Scott’s face. “That’s—I meant th— You k-know what I meant. Right?” Scott biting his lip and still grinning, didn’t answer.  
—  
“Nice place,” is all Lydia said to her best friend, tone indifferent as she took a seat beside her.  
  
“Really?” Kira asked, voice careful like she was talking a lion down, “I hate it.”  
  
Lydia gave her an unimpressed look, “Well, you _do_ have terrible taste.” The tension between them broke a little.

Lydia looked around the room, but she could sense Kira’s eyes on her. Her roommate looked like she had something to say so she waited. After some few minutes had passed, she heard Kira sigh and turned towards her again.  
  
“I found out about Stiles today.”  
  
“I didn’t—“ Lydia started softly.  
  
“You don’t have to,” Kira whispered back. “I know you. Don’t you ever forget that,”  
  
Lydia gave her a watery smile before sniffing, composed herself back. Seeing Allison’s threat letter, had her more emotional than usual. “So…what am I privy to?”  
  
“Everything. If Scott brought you here, it’s everything.”  
—  
When Stiles came back into the room, he spotted the girls having a quiet conversation at the back, and Scott fighting to keep a straight face while Isaac’s was completely red.  
  
“I guess you all know now.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And?” Stiles asked, expecting the worst.  
  
Lydia shrugged, standing up and coming beside Scott. “Normally I would have you know, exploded but…” she looked at their leader, “..now it doesn’t matter. You’re safe. Scott’s not.”  
  
Stiles’ eyes bugged out and Lydia took a small amount of pleasure of having one up on information over Stiles considering she was usually the last to know.  
  
“It’s Kate,” Scott said to Kira and Stiles. “Kate tried to kill you, or have you killed.”  
  
“She couldn’t have wanted it too hard; they were amateurs.”

“Probably wanted that element of surprise.” Isaac mused out loud. “Here’s a scary thought…you think she _wants_ us to know its her?”

“I doubt it. Kate’s always enjoyed surprises,” Scott said, thinking about the time Kate had staged the entire fight between Derek and Akito, right where the police would find them. She’d worked out everything—he didn’t think he’d ever forget the smug smile she had worn, the day five of the BW were sentenced to jail. “She likes to be there. To see the faces firsthand.”  
  
“So how are you so sure it’s Kate?” Stiles asked.  
  
The gang looked at each other as though trying to decide who should mention the particulars to Stiles. Finally with enough back and forth looks, Stiles figured it out.  
  
“This has to do with Allison, doesn’t it?”  
  
It wasn’t really a question. Scott hadn’t gone into detail regarding Allison before Stiles joined up. The others were pretty tight lipped about it too, so it wasn’t like Stiles could ask for particulars elsewhere.  
  
He had to get the general events from Danny. A HF snuck into the school, shot her then vanished. Stiles knew she was Scott’s previous Right Hand, so this must have taken a big hit on the leader. He also knew it wouldn’t have been easy, getting someone else in the gang, that it shouldn’t feel like Scott was replacing her. And now with him…  
  
“Allison…” It was Lydia who started, “She was of Hale Fire. Somewhere along the line, she started to believe in Scott, more than she did with Derek—“  
  
“The beginning of the end,” Isaac muttered under his breath. “She joined up, moved sides. But Kate—she was big on family. She has that, ‘if I can’t, no one can’ mentality. A letter was mailed—“  
  
“—We didn’t know who it was,” Scott took up the tale, “but it made us more paranoid, which was exactly what she wanted to achieve. The worst part though…it wasn’t a betrayal that had Kate all up in arms, it was a calculated attack. Using this chance to snatch our territory.”  
  
“Her speciality is weakening defences, which is why Derek keeps her around considering how sometimes she goes off script.” Kira added.  
  
Stiles nodded, “Cora when she ‘spoke’ to Malia, didn’t seem to know about me being attacked. So either Derek is selective to the things he shares with his sister, or there's was an independent agent.”  
  
“And getting you to disappear would achieve the same thing: Chaos, distraction, weak lines. Kira supplied.

“Which she believes to be a success,” Stiles reminded them. “That’s why she’s after Scott now. The attempt on me happened Friday night. Even with the assumption that we wouldn’t see each other over the weekend, she ensured: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.” He held a finger up for each day he stated, “Enough time to start a panic, enough time to get you enraged.”  
  
“She changed her pattern this time though, she’s coming _directly_ for you—“ Isaac said.  
  
“—Which means she’s losing patience.”  
  
They fell into their own thoughts, when a shrill ring of a cellphone cut through the silence. Everyone turned to Stiles as he picked up before the second ring.  
—  
“Yeah?”

“Put me on,” said the voice on the other end of the line. Stiles frowned. They’d talked about this, but it seemed urgent so he didn’t waste time arguing.  
  
“Hello Scottie McHottie,” Caitlin cooed out. Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose, regretting listening to her, “…and…possibly ladies—“  
  
“I’m going to fucking strangle you,” Stiles snapped. He couldn’t believe she was actually trying to _flirt_ on the phone. It was embarrassing.

“Shut up, you need me,” Cait’s voice went from sweet to sharp in seconds. “Back to business as usual with you… I have found the answer to part of your problem.  
  
“That twerp that’s been hanging around you lately, does want to be a Wolf but he is unfortunately a people pleaser. Have you heard the name, Romero?”  
  
Stiles looked to Scott, who was looking at Kira.  
  
“Yeah, we know Romero,” Kira said slowly.  
  
“Great. I’ll give you the dirty. Three siblings, no parents. Oldest boy dies in the last gang clash, middle one is in 20’s but has some medical condition and their deep in debt. So the youngest’s stupid thought process was to ask Hale for financial help.  
  
“What connects the two you ask?”  
  
“Would you cut the dramatics? Stiles rolled his eyes, purposely not saying Cait’s name.  
  
“You’re no fun Stiles. This is why you’re still a virgin.”  
  
Stiles pointedly looked at his phone, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. “You were saying?”  
  
“Right! The Romero is you wannabe gangster’s girlfriend, and we all know the brooding shit doesn’t do anything for free…” Caitlin trailed off which was unusual. There was something else she needed to say.  
  
He swiftly took her off speaker, leaving her parting words to Scott and the others, “Yeah?”  
  
“You’re boy Danny’s been acting funny,”  
  
Stiles stiffened, “What happened?”

“It’s a feeling. Did something happen over the weekend?” Stiles didn’t know what to say. He heard her sigh, “It’s fine. I get it…Want me to keep an eye on him?”  
  
“Please.” Stiles hung up, turning to face the room again. “People pleaser, huh?” he said in way of entering the conversation. “What’d you wanna do Scott?”  
  
Scott picked at his bottom lip, staring at a spot on the floor, before straitening up, seeming to come to a conclusion. “Nothing. We do nothing. If we’re being watched, maybe play it up. Give some pretence of worrying about Stiles, but not being strange around Liam.”  
  
“We _are_ being watched by the way,” Stiles said, “There two students at BHH: Theo and Donovan.”

“Give me Theo.” Lydia stated. All heads turned to her.  
  
Scott eyed her, contemplative. Stiles looked between them feeling like he was missing something big. He noticed Kira and Isaac looking as confused as he felt, but considering both Scott and Lydia weren’t offering an explanation, he sensed it was personal on Lydia’s side.  
  
“I’ve got this.” Lydia sounded sure. Scott simply nodded and moved on.  
  
“Donovan, then. Stiles said there’s a Lucas too?” Scott switched his eyes to Stiles. “We need more time. Can you get your dad to give you some more days? It’s best if you stay out of sight.”  
  
Stiles gave him a small nod, working in his head, how he would go about another conversation with his dad. He hated the plan, but it was needed. Thinking about the ex-cop, Stiles’ thoughts turned toward Malia, and how he had treated her.

Kira was right; he _didn’t_ know how much she could handle. All he did know was she deserved better. For someone that came from the foster system and wanted to truly make something out of themselves, mixing up with gang members was not the way to go.  
  
He was so lost in thought, he didn’t notice Isaac until the curly-haired blonde spoke, “Heard you got attacked. Didn’t hear how.”  
  
“Was preoccupied,” Stiles shook his head at his stupidity, “was on the pho—“ Just then he thought about something. “I was on the phone…” He pulled out the device and stared at it. With a quick glance toward Isaac, Stiles pressed 1. The screen immediately lit up with a number that was definitely not Danny’s.  
  
The call was denied as Scott levelled him with a look, “We’re in the same room.”  
  
“Just checking something,”  
  
“And?”  
  
“She redialled…” Stiles sounded somewhat shocked.  
  
Scott raised his eyebrows at Stiles and gestured to Isaac, like saying, ‘all yours,’ before turning to say something to Lydia.

Isaac scratched his forehead, “You’re not making any sense, I hope you know that,” he informed Stiles.  
  
“She redialled.”  
  
“Yeah I got that the first time. Who’s she?”  
  
“I was distracted that night when I was strangled from behind. Then stabbed. Then kicked down. Malia found me, and thought she was speed dialling for help.”  
  
“She was redialling,” Isaac caught on. “and now you’re wondering how reliable this redialled person is.”  
  
“Pretty much it.”  
  
“Why the doubt?”  
  
“The way the tale was told they got there fairly quickly despite not living close by, despite not knowing what for and they took my phone away until I demanded for it back.”  
  
“That _is_ shifty.” Isaac eyed Stiles, “You sure you wanna do this. I mean I get the whole being extra cautious but if we’re already on a rickety bridge, why rock it further?”  

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know…”  
  
“They could just be scared. Not everyone hiding in the shadows is a monster, you know? Sometimes the monster walks in pure daylight, a face you see everyday so you never think to protect yourself,”  
  
“Sometimes you’re the monster…” Stiles trailed off.  
  
Isaac turned his whole body to face Stiles, “You’re not a monster. You’re a guy that has been put in an awful, unforgiving place, that is doing the best he can for survival—same as the rest of us. If you’re a monster..then so are all of us in this room.”  
  
“You know I’m nowhere on Scott’s plain field right?”  
  
“Oh wow,” Isaac raised his eyebrows, lips quirking to the side teasingly, “You aim high! I was thinking more like…me.”  
  
Stiles burst out laughing, tears leaping into his eyes, “Yeah, yes. You’re right.” Isaac smiled pleased on a job well done. They leaned their elbows on the granite top as one, watching Scott and talking in hushed whispers.  
  
“Has he ever…you know—killed someone?”  
  
“Indirectly—but never point blank. That’s what we’re for.”  
  
“True. It would be beautifully poetic then, if he was the one to kill Kate.” Stiles said, earning a grin from Isaac at his words. “Let’s make it happen, ya?”  
—  
Scott walked towards the back patio motioning Lydia to follow him. Once the glass doors were securely shut behind them, he asked, “You sure you wanna do this?”  
  
“Yes.” Lydia’s eyes were fierce. “I know you’re hesitant because it’s personal between us, but he violated me. I don’t know if he did it again to another girl or tried to, but I’m—it has to be me, Scott. I’ll do you proud, I promise.”  
  
“I know you will.”  
  
“Thank you,” Lydia hugged him tightly and Scott hugged her back, one hand patting her head gently.  
—  
Malia sat on the floor beside Tracy during their lunch hour, staring vacantly at a spot. She had wasted all of yesterday, staying home.

After that disastrous event, the only thought Malia had was to get away from Stiles, before she went and tried to punch him too. Rage took up any room that might have given way to sadness. Once actually inside her apartment though, the stillness of the room brought everything back into focus almost too sharply, and Malia slid to the floor in defeat, head in her hands.

It had taken a couple minutes to realize she had accidentally put Stiles’ shirt on and then...she just crumpled, unmoving on the floor, wishing for ability to disappear.

Staying home had been a bad decision, because the events that took place at her apartment from before... It kept running around like a carousel in her head, depriving her of sleep and making her feel dirty no matter how many times she scrubbed herself down.  
  
A noise down the hall jerked Malia back to the present and like reflex, turned to her friend to see if she was startled too. Tracy wasn't, having put the playlist on her phone on repeat, as she doodled on the front cover of her notebook absently. She was in a mood which Malia could relate to, but keeping this to herself…she was started feeling like she was suffocating.  
  
“I did something.”  
  
Tracy didn’t say anything at first, leaning over to pause the music. When she did she surprised Malia at the direction she took the comment in. “Does anyone else know?”  
  
“Yes,” Malia said, thinking of Danny.  
  
“Are they trustworthy?”  
  
This made her think. She barely knew Danny, Malia was quick to realize. He'd helped her out yes, and she’d even gone so far as to give him the spare key but she didn’t actually _know_ anything about him. It hadn’t even occurred to her to ask.

“Well?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Malia swallowed.  
  
“Then you have two options. One, you ignore the unease and move along. Or, two—you take action. Minimize your interactions, take back control.”  
  
“Sounds like there’s only one option…” Malia raised her eyebrows at the brunette. “ ‘Ignore the unease’. Really?” All she got was a shrug for a response.    
  
“If you run into further problems after standing up to them, my girlfriend’s knows one of the BW. I don’t like it but that’s not up to me.”

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Malia’s commented surprised.  
  
“Yeah, well that’s hetero-normative culture for you…”  
  
Malia snorted, “That’s not even it, and you know that. You’re always talking about Isaac and how hot he is.”  
  
“Okay no, I said he’d be good for hate sex. And hello, I have eyes. People are aesthetically pleasing but you don’t have an obliga—“  
  
“OKay okay, stop getting so defensive! I was only saying because you don’t talk about yourself that much.”  
  
“Huh yeah…that tends to happen when you’re used to being by yourself.”  
  
Malia was ashamed it had never crossed her mind why Tracy only hung out with her.

“Someone in the past did me dirty. Not like _actually_ , but tried to get me into drugs and I decided—die young to no friends. I chose no friends. It’s affecting my relationship now though, it’s kind of up in the air with her because I can’t shake it you know? I can’t…trust comes very hard.”  
  
“I’m the exact opposite despite everything,” Malia gave a self-deprecating laugh, “It’s how I’m in this mess to begin with.”  
  
“Right! Yeah you’d better go before lunch ends,” Tracy was already rummaging her backpack for headphones. She stopped mid-way and looked up at Malia as she got up, “Thanks you know, for listening? Or _wanting_ to hear me.”

“Always,” Malia smiled genuinely for the first time in days. “We still on for this evening?”  
  
“Only if your dick of a boss doesn’t call you up to take up his shift.”  
  
Malia shook her head. “Front steps then?”  
  
“Yeah,” Tracy smiled back, and put her ear phones in. Malia looked at her volume bar and leaning down, reduced it to a lower setting. “See? This is why I keep you around.”  
  
“You’re such a shit, Trace.” Malia laughed and went to find Danny.  
—  
It was only after Malia started walking did she realize she had no idea where Danny hung out at lunch. Their school was so like the ones in the movies—ridiculously clique, it was irritating. After walking around aimlessly, Malia finally asked one of the less threatening-looking groups if they knew where she could find Danny.  
  
The bleachers. Of _course_ it would be the bleachers; so far away from the rest of the school’s population—these snobs almost needed to feel special in some way. As she walked down the field, Malia mused maybe if the other kids in the past hadn’t been so mean—making fun of her wearing last year’s fashion—maybe she wouldn’t resent these kids so much.  
  
Nervousness grew the closer she walked towards the bleachers, so instead of facing a whole group of jeering students, Malia stood close to the trees in Danny’s line of sight, hoping movement would catch his attention.  
  
It worked. Malia pointed to the side pathway, so Danny wouldn’t have to be embarrassed to be seen with her.  
  
“Hey, what’s up?” Danny stood beside her glancing at his friends, before moving his attention back.  
  
“I want my key back.” Malia got straight to the point.  
  
“What? did something happen? Are you okay?”  
  
Malia felt like stabbing herself.  Danny sounded genuinely concerned. Or it could be he was a good actor? Steeling herself back, she replied, “I have things under control now. Sti—“ she looked around for eavesdroppers, “—he is doing fine and I can handle everything else on me own,” Malia lied.  
  
She didn’t want to tell him about Stiles. If he was involved or not, it didn’t matter. “So..thanks for everything, but I’m good,” she held out her hand for the keys.  
  
“I don’t have it on me.” Danny looked suspiciously at her, “It’s in my locker.”  
  
“I’ll walk with you.” Malia didn’t wait for a response and headed towards the school building. Once inside she waited for Danny. He walked past her heading to his locker, then passed the key to her.  
  
“If you need anythi—“  
  
“I’ll click my heels together twice,” Malia glared at him.  
  
“Right, sorry. I know you’re capable of handling yourself, it’s just sudden.”  
  
“Yeah, well…” Malia trailed off, turning on her heels and walking off without finishing her sentence.  
—  
Malia was in a good mood by the time she reached home. Tracy had taken her to this bakery that had free samples going, and then they stopped at this bubble tea place—where Malia discovered she was _never ever_ getting one of those again. Tracy laughed at her the entire time, loving her expressions. Then they sat out on a bench at a small park.  
  
It was really nice, and after the whole thing with Stiles, she needed a break from everything. Blessedly her boss didn’t call and she wouldn’t have to suffer another wretched walk from the bus stop or Lucas watching.  
  
She laughed to herself as she reached into the pocket of her new jacket. Tracy had taken her to a thrift store and the jacket was 20 dollars which was the exact amount she had on her.  
  
She’d driven Tracy crazy—and kind of gotten back at her for the bubble tea thing—by singing ‘Thrift Shop’ as loud as she could because she knew her friend hated it. The keys tinkling in her hands and distracted by the memory, she missed noticing someone step out of the shadow of the corridor light.  
  
“Don't scream,” were the last words Malia heard before her world went dark.  
—  
  
_  
  
_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loveliiiiies!!! Hiiii!! Okay for starters I want to thank everyone who commented like ever for all the chapters. I was quite down about continuing the story and seeing someone loving it made a huge difference you know? So thank you so much, for the kudos as well. muaah!! Chapter wise, plans!! Putting plans in action which is exciting!! Also hadn’t visited Malia in a while right?? Who’s regretting I did? Sorry. I think. :) I knoww I’m a horrible person! but you still love me right? Please? Love much ~Nenz

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo Lovelies! Who knew accepting a kind gesture from a stranger could go so horribly wrong? :D I had originally written this as a one shot to a '3am fire alarm let me lend you my jacket' prompt, and I'm not sure what happened, but I'm glad it did :) Much love~ Nenz


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